UNIVERSITY  OF  CA  RIVERSIDE    LIBRARY 


3  1210  01712  8909 


WORLD 
LITERATURE 


RGMOULTON 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

RIVERSIDE 


WORLD   LITERATURE 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK    •    BOSTON   •    CHICAGO 
SAN    FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  Limited 

LONDON  •  BOMBAY  ■  CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.  OF  CANADA,  Ltd. 

TORONTO 


WORLD  LITERATURE 


ITS  PLACE  IN  GENERAL  CULTURE 


RICHARD  G. 


ArtCfl^B.),  Ph.D.  (Pbnna.) 


PROFESSOR  OF  LITERARY  THEORT  AND  INtTTB^ETATIONJBft  THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF    CHICAGO,    UNIVERSITY    EXTENSION    LECWHtej^IN    LrCERATURE 

(ENGLAND   AND    AHERICA^      ^"~"**'  \ 

AUTHOR    OF    "  SHAKESPEARE    AS    A    DRAMA^TFq    ABb{ST,"    "*'  SHAKE- 
SPEARE AS  A  DRAMATIC  THINKER,"   "  TH^\^lh!««NT  Ct*S1^ICAL 
DRAMA,"  ETC.     EDITOR  OF  "THE  MODERN  :^ADER'S  BIBLE  " 


THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY 
1911 


All  rights  reserved 


COPYBIQHT,   1911, 

By  the  MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 


Set  up  and  electrotyped.     Published  April,  1911. 


Norhiaot)  JPieea 

J.  S.  Cashing  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith  Co. 

Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


PREFACE 

This  book  presents  a  conception  of  World  Literature, 
not  in  the  sense  of  the  sum  total  of  particular  literatures, 
but  as  a  unity,  the  literary  field  seen  in  perspective  from 
the  point  of  view  of  the  English-speaking  peoples.  Theo- 
retical treatment  is  throughout  supplemented  by  exposi- 
tion of  masterpieces. 

To  the  general  reader  the  book  suggests  a  rational 
scheme  of  connection  such  as  should  be  at  the  back  of 
every  attempt  to  make  choice  of  "the  best  books."  For 
the  student  it  illustrates  a  treatment  of  the  subject  un- 
hampered by  divisions  between  particular  literatures  in 
different  languages,  divisions  which  make  the  weakness 
of  literary  study  in  our  academic  systems.  Its  plea  is 
that  such  World  Literature  belongs  to  every  stage  of 
general  culture,  from  the  most  elementary  to  the  most 
advanced. 

My  life  has  been  entirely  occupied  with  the  study  and 

the  teaching  of  literature.     I  have  sought  in  the  present 

work  to  embody  the  main  results  of  my  experience,  so 

far  as  these  bear  upon  the  field  of   literature  and   the 

general  interest  of  the  subject.     I  purpose,  at  no  distant 

date,  to  follow  up  this  work  with  another,  which  will 

be  a   more   formal   introduction   to   literary  theory  and 

interpretation. 

RICHARD  G.  MOULTON. 
February,  1911. 


[V] 


CONTENTS 

INTRODUCTION 

PAGE 

I.     The  Unity  of  Literature  and  the  Conception  of 

World  Literature 1 

n.     Literary  Pedigree  of  the  English-speaking  Peoples       10 
III.     World    Literature    from    the    English    Point   of 

View 53 

SURVEY  OF  WORLD  LITERATURE 

CHAPTER  I 
The  Five  Literary  Bibles.  —  The  Holy  Bible  ...      59 

CHAPTER  II 
The     Five     Literary     Bibles.  —  Classical     Epic     and 

Tragedy 99 

CHAPTER  III 
The  Five  Literary  Bibles.  —  Shakespeare  ....     164 

CHAPTER  IV 
The  Five  Literary   Bibles.  —  Dante  and  Milton:   The 
Epics    of    Mediaeval    Catholicism    and    Renaissance 
Protestantism 179 

CHAPTER  V 
The  Five  Literary  Bibles.  —  Versions  of  the  Story  of 

Faust 220 

[vii] 


CONTENTS 
CHAPTER  VI 

PAGE 

Collateral  Studies  in  World  Literature         .        .        .    295 

CHAPTER  VII 
Comparative  Reading 351 

CHAPTER  VIII 
Literary  Organs  of  Personality:  Essays  and  Lyrics   .    381 

CHAPTER  IX 
Strategic  Points  in  Literature 407 

CHAPTER  X 
World  Literature  the  Autobiography  of  Civilization     429 

CONCLUSION 
The  Place  of  World  Literature  in  Education       .        .    439 


vMl] 


INTRODUCTION 
I 

The  Unity  of  Literature  and  the  Conception  of  World  Literature 

II 

Literary  Pedigree  of  the  English-speaking  Peoples 

III 
World  Literature  from  the  English  Point  of  View 


[ixl 


INTRODUCTION 


THE   UNITY   OF   LITERATURE   AND   THE   CONCEPTION 
OF   WORLD   LITERATURE 

It  has  been  among  the  signs  of  our  times  that  popular 
inquiries  have  been  started  at  intervals  in  reference  to 
''The  Best  Books."  Eminent  individuals  have  been 
importuned  to  name  the  ten,  the  twenty-five,  the  hun- 
dred best  books ;  or  —  since  this  is  an  age  of  democracy 
—  the  selection  has  been  referred  to  newspaper  voting. 
In  all  this  there  seems  to  be  a  certain  simplicity  min- 
gled with  a  strain  of  deep  wisdom.  The  simplicity  is 
the  naive  idea  that  everything  knowable  is  of  the  nature 
of  information,  sure  to  be  found  in  the  right  compen- 
dium ;  only,  as  universal  wisdom  has  not  yet  been  alpha- 
betically indexed,  it  may  be  necessary  to  have  recourse 
to  an  expert.  The  wisdom  latent  in  such  attempted 
selections  is  the  suggestion  that  the  popular  mind,  in 
however  crude  and  shadowy  a  way,  has  grasped  a  prin- 
ciple ignored  in  more  formal  study  —  the  essential  unity 
of  literature. 

This  failure  to  recognize  the  unity  of  all  literature  ac- 
counts for  the  paradox  that,  while  literary  study  is  going 
on  actively  all  around,  yet  the  study  of  literature,  in  any 
B  [1] 


THE  CONCEPTION  OF  WORLD  LITERATURE 

adequate  sense,  has  yet  to  begin.  When  we  speak  of  the 
study  of  philosophy,  what  we  have  in  mind  is  not  the 
reading  of  Greek  philosophic  writers  by  persons  inter- 
ested in  Greek  studies,  and  the  reading  of  German  philo- 
sophers by  persons  interested  in  German  studies,  and  the 
like :  apart  from  all  this  we  recognize  that  there  is  the 
thing  philosophy,  with  an  independent  interest  and  his- 
tory of  its  own,  the  whole  being  something  quite  differ- 
ent from  the  sum  of  the  parts.  In  other  words,  we  recog- 
nize the  unity  of  philosophy.  Similarly,  we  recognize 
the  unity  of  history,  the  unity  of  art ;  even  the  separate 
languages  of  the  world  have  coalesced  into  a  unity  in  the 
study  of  philology.  But  when  the  question  is  of  litera- 
ture, it  would  seem  as  if  the  humanities  side  of  the  edu- 
cational edifice  has  been  built  in  water-tight  compart- 
ments ;  what  goes  on  in  our  schools  and  colleges  is  the 
study  in  one  class  room  of  English  Uterature  in  connec- 
tion with  English  history  and  language,  in  other  class 
rooms  Greek  or  Latin  or  French  literature  in  connection 
with  Greek  or  Latin  or  French  history  and  language. 
We  look  in  vain  for  an  independent  study  of  literature 
itself,  and  of  literature  as  a  whole. 

Perhaps  it  may  be  objected  that  such  a  thing  is  to  be 
found  under  the  name  of  Comparative  Literature,  or 
the  Philosophy  of  Literature.  Comparative  Literature 
is  an  important  advance  towards  recognizing  unity  for 
the  whole  literary  field ;  but  that  it  is  only  an  advance 
the  title  infallibly  marks.  For  who  would  speak  of  Com- 
parative Philosophy,  or  Comparative  Mathematics? 
Such  names  might  indeed  be  used  to  denote  specific 
pieces  of  work ;  they  could  never  indicate  a  whole  study. 

12] 


THE  UNITY  OF  LITERATURE 

Similarly,  the  Philosophy  of  Literature  can  be  nothing 
more  than  a  single  element  in  the  whole  study  of  litera- 
ture. The  most  important  part  of  any  treatment  of 
literature  must  be  a  detailed  and  loving  acquaintance 
with  a  large  number  of  actual  literary  works  :  in  propor- 
tion as  a  reader  possesses  this  will  the  philosophy  of  the 
subject  be  valuable.  To  offer  it  as  equivalent  to  the 
study  of  literature  would  be  as  futile  as  to  think  that  a 
course  in  economics  would  of  itself  make  a  good  business 
man,  or  that  text-books  in  psychology  and  ethics  would 
give  a  knowledge  of  human  nature. 

No  doubt  there  are  special  difficulties  in  the  way  of  our 
compassing  the  study  of  literature  as  a  whole.  The 
first  of  these  I  should  myself  consider  not  so  much  a 
difficulty  as  a  prejudice.  It  is  obvious  that  the  study  of 
literature  as  a  whole  is  impossible  without  a  free  use  of 
translations.  Now,  there  is  a  widespread  feeling  that 
the  reading  of  translated  literature  is  a  makeshift,  and 
savors  of  second-hand  scholarship.  But  this  idea  is  itself 
a  product  of  the  departmental  study  of  literature  which 
has  prevailed  hitherto,  in  which  language  and  literature 
have  been  so  inextricably  intertwined  that  it  has  be- 
come difficult  to  think  of  the  two  separately.  The  idea 
will  not  bear  rational  examination.  If  a  man,  instead 
of  reading  Homer  in  Greek,  reads  him  in  English,  he 
has  unquestionably  lost  something.  But  the  question 
arises.  Is  what  he  has  lost  literature  ?  Clearly,  a  great 
proportion  of  what  goes  to  make  literature  has  not  been 
lost ;  presentation  of  antique  life,  swing  of  epic  narra- 
tive, conceptions  of  heroic  character  and  incident,  skill 
of  plot,  poetical  imagery — all  these  elements  of  Homeric 

[3] 


THE   CONCEPTION  OF  WORLD  LITERATURE 

literature  are  open  to  the  reader  of  translations.  But, 
it  will  be  said,  language  itself  is  one  of  the  main  factors 
in  literature.  This  is  true,  but  it  must  be  remembered 
that  the  term  "language"  covers  two  different  things: 
a  considerable  proportion  of  linguistic  phenomena  is 
common  to  related  languages  and  will  pass  from  one  to 
the  other,  while  other  elements  of  language  are  idiomatic 
and  fixed.  What  the  English  reader  of  Homer  has  lost 
is  not  language,  but  Greek.  And  he  has  not  lost  the 
whole  of  Greek ;  the  skilled  translator  can  convey  some- 
thing of  the  ethos  of  idiomatic  Greek  into  his  version, 
writing  what  may  be  correct  English,  but  not  such  Eng- 
lish as  an  Englishman  would  write.  When,  however, 
all  abatement  has  been  made,  the  reader  of  the  transla- 
tion has  suffered  a  distinct  loss ;  and  the  classical  scholar 
knows  how  great  that  loss  is.  But  the  point  at  issue 
is  not  the  comparative  value  of  literature  and  language, 
but  the  possibility  of  realizing  hterature  as  a  unity. 
One  who  accepts  the  use  of  translations  where  necessary 
secures  all  factors  of  literature  except  language,  and  a 
considerable  part  even  of  that.  One  who  refuses  trans- 
lations by  that  fact  cuts  himself  off  from  the  major  part 
of  the  Uterary  field;  his  literary  scholarship,  however 
poUshed  and  precise,  can  never  rise  above  the  provincial. 
To  which  it  must  be  added  that  the  prejudice  against 
translations  is  of  the  nature  of  a  prophecy  which  can  ful- 
fil itself  :  where  it  has  prevailed,  the  character  of  transla- 
tions has  approximated  to  the  schoolboy's  "  crib."  On 
the  other  hand,  it  is  noteworthy  how  classical  scholars  of 
front  rank  have  devoted  themselves  to  translation  as  the 
best  form  of  commentary  —  Jowett,  Munro,  Coning- 

[4] 


THE  UNITY  OF  LITERATURE 

ton,  Jebb,  Palmer,  Gilbert  Murray ;  how  poets  of  front 
rank  have  made  themselves  interpreters  between  one 
language  and  another — William  Morris,  Edwin  Arnold, 
Chapman,  Dryden,  Pope ;  when  precise  scholarship  and 
poetic  gifts  mingle  in  such  men  as  Mr.  Arthur  S.  Way 
and  Mr.  B.  B.  Rogers,  it  can  be  brought  about  that 
Homer,  Euripides,  and  Aristophanes  shine  equally  as 
English  and  as  Greek  poetry.  Again,  men  of  the  high- 
est literary  refinement  have  made  strong  pronounce- 
ments on  the  side  of  translated  literature.  ''I  do  not 
hesitate,"  says  Emerson  in  his  Essay  on  Books,  'Ho  read 
all  the  books  I  have  named,  and  all  good  books,  in  trans- 
lations. What  is  really  best  in  any  book  is  translat- 
able; any  real  insight  or  broad  human  sentiment. 
...  I  rarely  read  any  Greek,  Latin,  German,  Italian — 
sometimes  not  a  French  book — in  the  original  which  I  can 
procure  in  a  good  version.  I  like  to  be  beholden  to  the 
great  metropolitan  English  speech,  the  sea  which  re- 
ceives tributaries  from  every  region  under  heaven.  I 
should  as  soon  think  of  swimming  across  Charles  River 
when  I  wish  to  go  to  Boston,  as  of  reading  all  my  books 
in  originals,  when  I  have  them  rendered  for  me  in  my 
mother  tongue."  Let  an  appeal,  moreover,  be  made  to 
history.  Luther's  translation  of  the  Bible,  and  the  Eng- 
lish Authorized  Version,  laid  the  foundations  of  literary 
speech  for  two  nations.  Effects  on  some  such  wide 
scale  may  be  looked  for  when  high  linguistic  scholar- 
ship from  critical  shall  turn  to  creative,  and  apply  itself 
to  naturalizing  in  each  literature  the  best  of  all  the  rest. 
Quite  apart,  however,  from  this  question  of  translation 
there  are  real  and  formidable  difficulties  that  impede 

[5] 


THE  CONCEPTION  OF  WORLD  LITERATURE 

the  study  of  literature  as  a  whole.  In  such  a  subject  as 
language  the  unit  is  a  word  or  a  phrase :  in  literature 
the  smallest  unit  is  a  whole  poem.  In  philology,  and 
most  other  studies,  we  have  to  deal  only  with  facts : 
with  information,  and  that  information  digested.  But 
information  on  the  subject  of  literature  is  of  all  things 
the  most  barren  ;  what  is  wanted  in  this  study  is  imagi- 
native knowledge,  the  reaction  of  the  Uterary  matter 
upon  the  reader's  taste,  upon  his  artistic  and  spiritual 
susceptibility.  How  is  it  possible  to  compass  the  uni- 
versal field,  where  the  unit  is  so  large,  and  the  appreci- 
ation so  deep  seated  ? 

With  such  a  problem  as  this  we  are  concerned  in  the 
present  work  only  so  far  as  it  bears  upon  general  culture. 
And  that  which  seems  to  me  the  proper  solution  I  am 
expressing  by  what  is  the  title  of  this  book  —  World 
Literature.  It  must  be  admitted  that  the  term  "world 
literature  "  may  legitimately  be  used  in  more  than  one 
sense  ;  I  am  throughout  attaching  to  it  a  fixed  and 
special  significance.  I  take  a  distinction  between  Uni- 
versal Literature  and  World  Literature.  Universal 
Literature  can  only  mean  the  sum  total  of  all  literatures. 
World  Literature,  as  I  use  the  term,  is  this  Universal 
Literature  seen  in  perspective  from  a  given  point  of  view, 
presumably  the  national  standpoint  of  the  observer. 
The  difference  between  the  two  may  be  illustrated  by 
the  different  ways  in  which  the  science  of  Geography  and 
the  art  of  Landscape  might  deal  with  the  same  physical 
particulars.  We  have  to  do  with  a  mountain  ten  thou- 
sand feet  high,  a  tree-fringed  pond  not  a  quarter  of  an  acre 
in  extent,  a  sloping  meadow  rising  perhaps  to  a  hundred 

[6] 


PERSPECTIVE  APPLIED  TO  LITERATURE 

feet,  a  lake  some  four  hundred  miles  in  length.  So  far 
as  Geography  would  take  cognizance  of  these  physical 
features,  they  must  be  taken  all  in  their  exact  dimensions. 
But  Landscape  would  begin  by  fixing  a  point  of  view: 
from  that  point  the  elements  of  the  landscape  would  be 
8&fcn  to  modify  their  relative  proportions.  The  distant 
mountain  would  diminish  to  a  point  of  snow ;  the  pond 
would  become  the  prominent  centre,  every  tree  distinct ; 
the  meadow  would  have  some  softening  of  remoteness ; 
on  the  other  side  the  huge  lake  would  appear  a  silver 
streak  upon  the  horizon.  By  a  similar  kind  of  perspec- 
tive, World  Literature  will  be  a  different  thing  to  the 
Englishman  and  to  the  Japanese  :  the  Shakespeare  who 
bulks  so  large  to  the  Englishman  will  be  a  small  detail 
to  the  Japanese,  while  the  Chinese  literature  which  makes 
the  foreground  in  the  one  literary  landscape  may  be 
hardly  discernible  in  the  other.  World  Literature  will 
be  a  different  thing  even  to  the  Englishman  and  the 
Frenchman;  only  in  this  case  the  similar  history  of 
the  two  peoples  will  make  the  constituent  elements  of  the 
two  landscapes  much  the  same,  and  the  difference  will 
be  mainly  in  distribution  of  the  parts.  More  than  this, 
World  Literature  may  be  different  for  different  individ- 
uals of  the  same  nation :  obviously,  one  man  will  have 
a  wider  outlook,  taking  in  more  of  universal  literature ; 
or  it  may  be  that  the  individuality  of  the  student,  or  of 
some  teacher  who  has  influenced  him,  has  served  as  a 
lens  focussing  the  multiplex  particulars  of  the  whole  in 
its  own  individual  arrangement.  In  each  case  the 
World  Literature  is  a  real  unity ;  and  it  is  a  unity  which 
is  a  reflection  of  the  unity  of  all  literature.     That  it  is 

[7] 


THE  CONCEPTION  OF  WORLD  LITERATURE 

a  reflection  relative  to  the  particular  student  or  thinker 
is  a  thing  inseparable  from  culture :  is  indeed  what 
makes  the  difference  between  the  purely  scientific  and 
the  educational  point  of  view. 

The  essential  thing  is  that  the  observation  of  the  whole 
field  which  gives  us  this  World  Literature  should  be  cor- 
rect ;  in  other  words,  that  there  should  be  a  sound  phi- 
losophy at  the  basis  of  this  perspective  grouping.  It 
is  the  absence  of  such  underlying  philosophy  that  takes 
the  value  out  of  mere  lists  of  ''best  books "  as  representa- 
tions of  literature.  And  the  theory  on  which  a  view  of 
World  Literature  is  to  rest  will  resolve  itself  ultimately 
into  two  supplementary  principles.  One  of  these  maybe 
termed  the  National  Literary  Pedigree,  —  the  train  of 
historic  considerations  that  connects  the  reader's  nation- 
ality with  its  roots  in  the  far  past,  and  traces  its  rela- 
tionship with  other  parts  of  the  literary  field.  Here  we 
are  on  the  sure  basis  of  history.  But  it  will  be  history 
as  seen  from  the  standpoint  of  literature :  literary  pedi- 
gree may  be  very  different  from  ethnological  or  linguis- 
tic descent.  The  other  principle  is  Intrinsic  Literary 
Interest.  Quite  apart  from  its  association  with  history 
literature  has  an  interest  and  values  of  its  own.  The  in- 
dividuality of  an  author  (to  take  the  most  obvious  cases) 
or  the  accidental  flowering  of  some  literary  type  may  lift 
portions  of  a  literature  quite  out  of  the  position  that 
would  have  been  given  them  by  their  historic  settings, 
just  as  in  our  landscape  illustration  the  mountain  was 
so  distant  as  to  have  been  invisible  if  it  had  not  happened 
to  be  ten  thousand  feet  in  height.  The  individuality  of 
a  Dante  or  an  Aristophanes  has  modified  for  all  of  us  the 

[8] 


PERSPECTIVE  APPLIED  TO   LITERATURE 

general  map  of  poetry.  These  two  principles,  then,  of 
historic  connection,  and  of  intrinsic  literary  value,  by 
their  mutual  interaction  will  elaborate  a  sound  basis  on 
which  a  conception  of  World  Literature  may  rest. 

Such  World  Literature,  conceived  from  the  English 
point  of  view,  is  the  subject  of  the  present  work.  And 
our  first  step  is  to  trace  the  Literary  Pedigree  of  the 
English-speaking  peoples. 


[9] 


II 


THE    LITERARY    PEDIGREE    OF    THE    ENGLISH-SPEAKING 

PEOPLES 

I  start  from  the  position  that  our  EngUsh  civilization 
is  the  product  of  two  main  factors,  the  gradual  union 
of  which  has  made  us  what  we  are.  These  may  be 
expressed  by  the  terms  "  Hellenic "  and  "  Hebraic." 
The  one  is  the  ancient  Hellenic  civilization  embodied  in 
the  classical  literature  of  Greece  and  Rome.  The  other 
is  that  special  strain  of  Hebrew  civilization  which  is 
crystallized  in  that  literature  we  call  the  Bible.  Our 
science,  our  art,  our  philosophy,  our  politics,  are,  in  the 
main,  the  continuation  of  processes  commenced  by  the 
ancient  Greeks.  But  in  our  spiritual  nature  we  are 
not  Greek,  but  Hebrew :  product  of  the  spiritual 
movement  which  has  made  the  Bible.  The  evolution 
of  our  modern  life  rests  upon  the  gradual  intermingling 
of  these  Hellenic  and  Hebraic  elements.  The  two 
came  together  for  the  first  time  in  the  conquests  of 
Alexander  the  Great.  These  had  the  effect  of  extend- 
ing the  Greek  culture  to  all  the  civiUzed  races,  and 
amongst  them  to  the  exclusive  Hebrew  people;  after 
long  resistance  even  Palestine  was  Hellenized,  while 
in  Alexandria  had  arisen  a  new  centre  of  Jewish  life 
only  second  to  Palestine.    The  two  elements  met  a 

[10] 


HELLENIC  AND  HEBRAIC 

second  time  in  the  Roman  Empire.  Once  more  an 
Hellenic  civilization  was  covering  the  world ;  when 
this  Roman  Empire  was  Christianized,  Hebraic  culture 
permeated  Hellenic,  and  Rome  was  grafted  upon  the 
biblical  tree.  For  several  centuries  the  Hellenic  and 
Hebraic  cultures,  each  in  an  imperfect  form,  remained 
in  combination.  Then  by  a  third  revolution  the  two 
elements,  each  now  in  its  full  force,  were  brought  into 
reciprocal  influence :  and  this  Renaissance  makes  the 
threshold  of  our  modern  life. 

If  for  a  moment  we  turn  our  attention  to  these  two 
originating  elements  of  our  civilization,  we  find  that 
these  seem  to  hold  a  summarizing  position  in  reference 
to  the  main  civilizations  of  the  world.  The  leading 
races  ^  of  the  world  may  conveniently  be  divided  into 
three  classes.  Two  classes  correspond  with  the  Semitic 
and  Aryan  families  of  peoples ;  the  third  class  is  not  a 
related  group,  but  merely  a  total  of  the  races  other  than 
Semitic  and  Aryan,  which  have  exercised  a  correspond- 
ingly small  influence  upon  history,  as  history  affects 
ourselves.  In  the  Semitic  group  it  was  not  the  Hebrew 
people  that  first  came  to  the  front.  A  point  was 
reached,  however,  at  which  other  Semitic  civilizations 
seemed  to  stop  short ;  the  Hebrew  civilization  absorbed 
what  was  best  in  the  other  Semitic  peoples,  and  further 
seemed  endowed  with  an  endless  power  of  progression. 
A  similar  phenomenon  is  observable  in  the  Aryan  stock. 

^  I  use  this  word  as  a  convenient  term,  without  meaning  to  imply, 
necessarily,  that  it  was  the  racial  factor,  and  not  (e.gr.)  historical 
circumstances,  that  brought  about  the  distinguishing  influence  of 
each  civilization. 

Ill] 


U    09    ^ 


ca.  o 

gc5 


[12] 


HELLENIC  AND  HEBRAIC 

Other  Aryan  civilizations,  notably  the  Indian,  seem  at 
first  to  dominate ;  yet  a  point  is  reached  at  which  these 
become  distinguished  by  fecundity  rather  than  pro- 
gressive power,  while  Hellenic  culture  alike  absorbs 
all  that  is  best  in  allied  civilizations,  and  carries  for- 
ward its  own  with  unhmited  development.  Thus  the 
two  ancient  civilizations  which  are  the  component 
factors  of  our  own  seem  to  represent  the  flower  of  the 
civilizations  of  the  world. 

Already  then  we  begin  to  catch  the  main  lines  for 
a  scheme  of  World  Literature,  as  seen  from  the  English 
point  of  view.  The  literatures  of  the  world's  leading 
peoples  are  seen  to  stand  to  us  in  closer  or  more  remote 
degrees  of  relationship.  Some  literatures  are  entirely 
extraneous  to  the  evolution  of  which  we  are  the  prod- 
uct; if  they  have  an  interest  for  us  at  all,  this  must 
rest  entirely  upon  intrinsic  literary  attractiveness. 
To  others  our  culture  stands  in  the  relation  of  col- 
lateral propinquity.  But  the  Hellenic  and  Hebraic 
are  to  us  in  the  fullest  sense  ancestral  literatures :  this 
is  of  itself  sufficient  to  give  them  a  foremost  place  in 
our  conception  of  World  Literature.  The  claims  of 
Greek  culture  have  always  been  fully  acknowledged. 
It  has  been  one  of  the  great  services  of  Matthew  Arnold 
to  literary  study,  that  he  insisted  always  upon  the 
prominence  of  the  Hebraic  factor  in  our  modern  culture. 

At  this  point,  a  digression  seems  necessary,  which  I 
would  willingly  have  avoided.  What  is  the  essential 
spirit  of  this  Hellenism  and  Hebraism,  which  have 
thus  been  the  dominant  elements  in  our  history? 

[13] 


LITERARY  PEDIGREE  OF  THE  ENGLISH 

As  it  appears  to  me,  a  mistaken  conception  of  Hellen- 
ism has  obtained  currency;  mistaken,  in  the  sense  of 
laying  unwarranted  emphasis  on  what  is  not  really  of 
prime  importance.  It  has  become  traditional  to  find 
the  essence  of  Hellenism  in  the  civic  spirit  of  Athens 
during  the  era  of  Pericles ;  that  spirit  is  conceived  to  be 
the  subordination  of  all  activity  to  the  service  of  the 
state ;  this  is  taken  to  be  the  inspiration  of  the  highest 
art  and  poetry  of  the  Greeks ;  it  is  supposed  to  be 
voiced  especially  in  the  dramas  of  ^Eschylus,  Sophocles, 
and  Aristophanes ;  it  is  invaded  by  the  spirit  of  inno- 
vation of  which  Euripides  is  the  poetic  representative ; 
from  this  point  the  hold  of  the  state  becomes  less, 
individual  and  general  culture  prevails  more  and 
more,  and  Hellenism  passes  into  its  period  of  decay. 

This  seems  to  me  to  be  a  mistaken  reading  of  Hellen- 
ism. There  is  something  seductive  in  the  description 
of  an  ideal  that  subordinates  all  activity  to  the  service 
of  the  state,  until  we  remember  that  the  word  "state" 
in  such  a  context  has  a  different  meaning  from  what 
the  word  suggests  to  modern  ears.  What  the  Greeks 
meant  by  "state"  we  should  express  by  the  word  "con- 
stitution" :  the  point  is,  not  the  devotion  of  the  indi- 
vidual to  the  good  of  the  community,  but  the  subordi- 
nation of  everything  to  one  particular  conception  of 
common  life  —  the  highly  artificial  conception  of  the 
city-state.  The  inability  of  the  Greeks  to  rise  above 
this  ideal  is  by  universal  consent  recognized  as  the  cause 
of  the  submergence  of  Greek  political  civilization  in  the 
general  history  of  mankind.  This  ideal,  moreover, 
was  maintained  by  the  sacrifice  of  other  ideals  :  of  free- 

[14] 


HELLENIC  AND  HEBRAIC 

dom,  for  Greek  life  was  based  on  slavery;  of  family 
life,  for  the  position  of  woman  was  at  its  lowest  in  the 
age  of  Pericles.  Not  only  are  these  things  true  in 
historic  fact,  but  in  the  idealization  of  Athenian  polit- 
ical ideas  by  Plato  we  find  marriage  and  family  life 
surrendered  in  order  to  bolster  up  a  special  type  of 
state  organization;  the  whole  spirit  of  the  Republic 
is  that  the  governed  exist  for  the  sake  of  the  govern- 
ment, and  not  vice  versa.  Our  modern  thinking  is 
more  in  sympathy  with  the  primitive  type  of  life 
reflected  in  Homer,  with  its  lofty  conception  of  woman 
and  family  life :  Euripides  is  nearer  to  Homer  than  is 
the  Athens  of  his  day.  Nor  does  there  seem  any 
warrant  for  the  view  that  the  civic  spirit  of  Athens 
was  the  inspiration  of  its  art  and  poetry.  Naturally, 
in  plays  intended  for  performance  in  Athens,  there  are 
passages  glorifying  Athenian  institutions;  but  these 
have  little  to  do  with  the  general  spirit  of  the  dramas. 
The  dominating  note  of  Greek  tragedy  is  a  very  dif- 
ferent thing  —  overpowering  awe  in  the  presence  of 
Destiny.  The  supreme  tragic  situation  is  that  of  a 
mortal,  like  Orestes,  placed  between  opposite  destinies 
—  the  oracle  that  forces  him  to  do  the  deed  and  the 
Eumenides  who  crush  him  for  doing  it ;  though  it  is  true 
that  ^schylus,  with  the  audacity  of  a  partisan  in  a 
political  crisis,  figures  that  even  out  of  this  tangle  there 
is  a  way  of  escape  in  the  aristocratic  Court  of  Areopagus. 
So  in  Antigone,  we  see  humanity  placed  between  two 
equal  and  opposite  forces,  loyalty  to  kindred  and 
loyalty  to  the  state :  alike  Kreon  and  Antigone  are 
crushed.     And    the   irony    that    saturates    the   whole 

[15] 


LITERARY  PEDIGREE  OF  THE  ENGLISH 

Sophoclean  drama  is  the  mockery  of  man  in  his  attempts 
to  unravel  or  to  resist  Destiny.  Thus  it  is  a  reUgious, 
not  a  poHtical,  idea  which  is  the  basis  of  Greek  tragedy. 
It  is,  no  doubt,  a  splendid  moment  that  opens  Athenian 
history,  with  Marathon  and  the  single-handed  resist- 
ance to  Oriental  despotism ;  and  splendid  is  the  oratory 
and  historical  writing  by  which  this  Athenian  era  is 
illuminated  for  us.  But  we  must  not  mistake  between 
the  illumination  and  the  thing  illuminated.  Grote 
did  good  service  in  vindicating  the  Athenian  democracy 
against  the  traditional  disparagement  that  had  been 
inspired  by  prejudice  against  democracy  in  general ; 
yet,  on  an  impartial  review,  the  political  history  of 
Athens  reveals  the  usual  combination  of  evil  and  good, 
weakness  and  strength.  The  innovating  spirit  that 
comes  in  with  Socrates  and  Euripides  is  not  the  decline 
of  a  lofty  ideal,  but  the  inevitable  reaction  against  an 
artificial  conception  of  things,  a  reaction  in  the  direc- 
tion of  ideals  more  general,  saner,  more  natural. 

What  then  is  the  true  conception  of  the  Hellenic 
spirit?  Hellenism,  as  I  understand  it,  is  the  sudden, 
gigantic,  well-nigh  illimitable  outflowering  of  human 
powers,  alike  creative  and  critical,  but  working  upon  a 
highly  limited  material.  As  art  and  literature,  the 
productions  of  Greek  genius  reach  unsurpassable 
greatness  and  stand  in  a  class  by  themselves.  But 
the  permanent  influence  of  Hellenism  is  at  every  point 
checked  by  its  inherent  limitations,  limitations  that  are 
themselves  largely  the  result  of  the  sudden  outgrowth. 

The  silent  generations  had  accumulated  a  floating 
poetry  of  tradition  and  myth.     Homer  and  the  trage- 

[16] 


HELLENIC  AND  HEBRAIC 

dians  gave  to  this  matter  a  literary  splendor  that  fixed 
it  as  the  permanent  source  of  poetic  material  for  the 
Greeks.  For  all  the  centuries  from  Homer  to  Virgil 
every  attempt  to  travel  outside  this  circle  of  poetic 
matter  failed.  This  has  given  to  universal  literature 
one  of  its  permanent  effects  —  the  echoing  of  the 
poetry  of  the  past.  But  inevitably  at  last  there  comes 
exhaustion  of  material,  and  classical  poetry  passes  into 
the  sterile  imitation  and  uninspired  polish  of  a  silver 
age.  Again,  the  period  of  a  single  lifetime  saw  the 
rise  from  the  folk  play  to  the  magnificent  Attic  tragedy. 
But  this  sudden  rise  of  Greek  tragedy  imparted  to  it 
a  fixity  of  form :  connection  with  the  chorus  and 
limitation  to  a  single  final  situation  —  mere  accidents 
of  its  origin^ — became  accepted  as  essential  to  the 
very  conception  of  tragedy.  Such  stiffness  of  form 
militated  against  natural  expansion ;  finally  the  Greek 
Drama  of  Situation  became  the  Drama  of  Seneca,  the 
rhetorical  expansion  of  situations  conventional  or 
assumed.  Greek  religion  was  the  naive  awe  and  delight 
in  presence  of  nature  which  is  the  religion  of  the  world's 
childhood ;  it  inspired  such  poetry  that  the  ideal  is 
still  dear  to  us,  and  a  Schiller  can  sigh  for  the  gods  of 
Greece.  But  so  limited  a  religion  had  nothing  with 
which  to  satisfy  the  inevitably  deepening  life  of  the 
Greeks ;  which  was  thus  left  to  the  freezing  influence  of 
Destiny  with  its  closed  circle  of  thought,  until  religion 
died  out  in  Greece  except  as  popular  superstition. 
Its  place  was  taken  by  the  philosophy  of  nature  and  of 
man.  We  are  bewildered  by  the  rapid  succession  of 
philosophical  schools,  each  school  a  complete  explana- 
c  [17] 


LITERARY  PEDIGREE  OF  THE  ENGLISH 

tion  of  the  universe,  elaborated  with  a  subtilty  that 
tasks  our  modern  scholars  even  to  follow.  But  these 
philosophies  of  the  universe  rest  upon  a  basis  of  the 
narrowest  observation;  instruments  of  precision  and 
experiment,  which  are  the  alphabet  of  modern  philo- 
sophic research,  have  no  existence ;  such  philosophies 
find  their  natural  end  in  the  curiosity  hunting  of  a 
Pliny.  So  with  moral  speculation.  The  limiting  hori- 
zon of  the  autonomous  city-state  determines  the  whole 
point  of  view  :  the  moral  nature,  with  infinite  subtilty, 
is  analyzed  as  if  a  political  constitution.  Greek  ethics 
is  thus  the  philosophy  of  static  man ;  society,  or  (with 
the  Stoics)  the  universe,  is  brought  in  only  as  a  sphere 
in  which  the  individual  may  find  exercise.  There  is 
no  dynamic,  no  motive  for  progress,  no  reaction  of  the 
individual  on  his  universe ;  to  its  latest  conceptions 
in  Epictetus  and  Marcus  Aurelius  virtue  is  the  indi- 
vidual on  his  defence  against  the  vanity  of  life.  In  the 
case  of  Greek  art  we  have  to  take  distinctions.  Of  the 
arts  of  sculpture  and  dancing  the  field  is  the  human 
body :  here  the  whole  field  is  open  to  the  Greeks, 
and  they  have  exhausted  the  possibilities  of  these  two 
arts,  leaving  the  moderns  only  to  imitate  and  modify. 
In  architecture,  the  Greeks  reached  fulness  of  develop- 
ment for  a  single  form,  one  consonant  with  their  fixed 
open-air  life ;  the  more  varied  life  of  the  ages  that  were 
to  come  have  added  to  architecture  more  than  the 
Greeks  gave  to  it.  The  art  of  music  is  bound  up  with 
mechanism,  which  in  the  Hellenic  period  was  yet  in  its 
infancy;  here  it  is  the  Greeks  who  are  the  pygmies, 
and  the  moderns  the  giants. 

[18] 


HELLENIC  AND  HEBRAIC 

Perhaps  the  most  astonishing  achievement  of  the 
Greeks  is  their  criticism  and  logic  or  dialectic :  these 
seem  to  spring  up  in  a  moment  full  grown.  But  the  in- 
evitable limitation  comes  in.  Perhaps  the  Greek  lan- 
guage is  the  most  wonderful  language  the  world  has 
known :  but  it  is  also  true  that  the  Greeks  knew  no 
other  language,  and  all  other  peoples  were  to  them  bar- 
barians. Hence  Greek  criticism,  while  it  is  funda- 
mental and  final  when  it  is  regarded  as  analysis  of  Greek 
literature,  yet  falls  short  when  brought  to  bear  upon  the 
literatures  of  the  future ;  in  historic  fact  Greek  criticism 
has  proved  chiefly  an  incumbrance  to  the  natural  de- 
velopment of  poetry.  Further,  to  say  that  the  Greeks 
knew  no  language  but  their  own  is  to  say  that,  ulti- 
mately, they  must  lack  the  power  to  grasp  what  language 
really  is,  to  seize  clearly  the  horizon  between  words  and 
things.  And  this  one  limitation  undermines  the  sound- 
ness of  their  whole  profound  and  subtle  dialectic.  The 
dialogues  of  Plato  are  dramatizations  of  thought  pro- 
cesses :  as  such  they  are  the  marvel  of  universal  litera- 
ture. As  positive  mental  science,  while  the  wisest  of 
the  moderns  learns  much  from  them,  yet  their  author- 
ity breaks  down  continually  by  the  confusion  between 
things  and  the  names  of  things ;  Greek  logic  gives  us 
a  genealogy  of  ideas  rather  than  the  relation  between 
ideas  and  realities. 

Rome  presents  a  modified  Hellenism.  The  one  thing 
lacked  by  the  Greeks  is  supplied  by  the  Roman  people  : 
the  instinct  of  political  progression  that  can  enlarge  its 
conceptions  gradually  from  the  city-state  to  world  em- 
pire, crystallizing  all  this  institutional  development  in 

[19] 


LITERARY  PEDIGREE  OF  THE  ENGLISH 

law  and  jurisprudence.  But  again  the  fatal  limitation 
comes  in.  When  this  Roman  people  reaches  the  point 
of  literary  adolescence,  they  surrender  absolutely  to 
Greece,  and  henceforward  Roman  culture  follows 
Greek  culture  through  its  phases  of  strength  and  weak- 
ness. Accordingly,  when  the  poHtical  genius  of  Rome 
has  converted  all  civilization  into  a  single  empire,  there 
is  no  national  character  to  serve  as  soul  of  this  world 
empire ;  Roman  society  undergoes  the  decay  of  infinite 
viciousness,  until  the  new  force  of  Christianity  comes  to 
the  rescue. 

Thus  Hellenism  in  all  its  aspects  presents  the  same 
appearance :  colossal  powers,  with  magnificent  achieve- 
ments, yet  forever  checked  by  limitations  of  the  con- 
ditions amid  which  these  powers  are  working.  It  is  a 
totally  false  reading  of  history  to  say  that  Hellenism  was 
overthrown  by  Christianity.  The  seeds  of  decay  were 
in  the  ancient  world  itself,  and  Hellenism  everywhere 
showed  symptoms  of  exhaustion  long  before  Christian- 
ity arose.  The  world  we  call  modern  had  to  make  an 
entirely  fresh  start,  under  new  conditions.  Yet  this 
modern  world  must  forever  reckon  among  its  most 
priceless  possessions  the  heritage  of  literature,  art,  and 
philosophy  it  has  received  from  the  ancient  Greeks. 

It  is  no  less  necessary  to  inquire.  What  is  the  essen- 
tial spirit  of  Hebraism  ?  I  use  this  form  of  the  word  in 
order  to  emphasize  that  it  is  not  the  whole  history  and 
culture  of  the  Hebrew  people  with  which  we  are  con- 
cerned, but  only  that  element  of  it  which  is  embodied  in 
the  Uterature  we  call  the  Bible.  For  we  cannot  insist 
too  strongly  upon  the  fact  that  the  Bible  is  a  Hterature. 

[20] 


HELLENIC  AND  HEBRAIC 

One  of  the  features  of  our  age  is  a  remarkable  quicken- 
ing of  the  historic  spirit.  Historic  criticism,  as  in  other 
fields,  has  worked  upon  the  Bible  :  analyzing  the  text  as 
it  stands  into  component  elements,  assigning  these  com- 
ponent elements  to  various  dates,  and  attempting  chron- 
ological reconstruction.  There  has  thus  arisen  a  con- 
fusion in  the  popular  mind,  as  if  the  Bible  were  being 
recast.  Now,  such  historical  analysis  is  legitimate  and 
valuable  in  its  own  sphere :  but  this  sphere  is  that  of 
Semitic  antiquities.  It  is  a  misnomer  to  call  such  stud- 
ies biblical.  If  the  Bible  be  taken  to  pieces,  the  compo- 
nent elements  associated  with  particular  historical  sur- 
roundings, and  the  parts  reconstructed  in  new  sequence, 
the  result  so  attained  ceases  to  be  the  Bible,  and  becomes 
something  quite  different ;  a  valuable  exhibit,  it  may  be, 
for  the  Semitic  specialist,  but  of  no  bearing  upon  the 
history  of  civilization.  What  makes  the  groundwork  of 
our  modern  religion  is,  not  the  history  of  Israel,  but  one 
particular  interpretation  of  the  history  of  Israel,  a 
spiritual  interpretation  made  once  for  all  by  the  sacred 
writers,  and  embodied  in  the  finished  literature  we  call 
the  Bible.  To  recast  this  Bible  is  as  impossible  as  to 
reconstruct  Homer,  or  rewrite  Plato,  or  bring  Shakespeare 
up  to  date.  It  is  true  that  the  full  literary  character 
of  the  Bible  is  hidden  from  most  of  its  readers.  There 
are  two  reasons  for  this.  In  the  first  place — as  a  later 
chapter  will  show  more  at  length  —  most  of  us  read  the 
Bible  in  what  are  really  mediaeval  versions,  broken  up 
by  commentators  of  the  Middle  Ages  into  texts  for  com- 
ment ;  however  accurate  may  be  the  translation  of  the 
words,  the  literary  connection  is  lost.     Again,  this  Bible 

[21] 


LITERARY  PEDIGREE  OF  THE  ENGLISH 

has  been  worked  over  by  theology  after  theology,  each 
with  a  different  principle  of  interpretation  :  the  theologi- 
cal interpretations  are  more  familiar  than  the  natural 
literary  sense.  It  becomes  necessary,  avoiding  theo- 
logical formulations,  to  realize  the  content  of  Scripture 
simply  read  as  literature. 

In  form,  the  Bible  contains  a  framework  of  historic 
narrative  that  is  no  more  than  a  framework,  a  connei^ive 
tissue  holding  together  higher  literary  forms  —  story, 
lyrics,  drama,  discourse,  philosophic  wisdom,  epistolary 
exposition  —  which  higher  forms  constitute  the  life  and 
spirit  of  the  whole.  These  higher  forms  are  the  He- 
braic "  classics,"  the  survival  of  the  spiritually  fittest. 
They  hold  a  position  similar  to  that  of  Greek  "classics," 
yet  are  so  different  in  literary  structure  that  they  would 
be  important,  if  for  no  other  reason,  as  enlarging  opr 
conceptions  of  literary  form.  But,  unlike  their  Hellenic 
counterparts,  these  Hebraic  classics  are  further  seen  to 
draw  together  with  a  connectedness  like  the  unity  of  a 
dramatic  plot.  The  Bible  thus  presents  a  progression 
of  things  from  first  beginnings,  in  historic  outline  to  the 
first  Christian  century,  in  spiritual  vision  to  a  consumma- 
tion in  an  indefinite  future.  Our  immediate  question  is. 
What  are  the  ideas,  the  literary  motives,  holding  together 
this  dramatic  progression  ? 

First,  in  contrast  with  Greek  Uterature,  we  note  in 
the  Bible  the  total  absence  of  any  suggestion  of  Destiny. 
Though,  as  we  have  seen,  scriptural  literature  is  a  pro- 
gression, its  earlier  conceptions  widely  sundered  from 
the  later,  yet  from  first  to  last  the  supreme  power  of  the 
universe  is  always  conceived  in  the  personal  form  — 

[22] 


HELLENIC  AND  HEBRAIC 

God.  The  "work  that  God  doeth  from  the  beginning 
even  unto  the  end"  is  not  Destiny  but  Providence.  It 
belongs  to  this  freedom  from  any  sense  of  Destiny  that 
the  Bible  places  its  golden  age  always  in  the  future,  not 
in  the  past ;  there  is  moral  inspiration  in  this  vista  of  an 
endless  progression  that  is  always  a  progression  upward. 
Of  course,  the  supreme  Power  of  the  universe  is  presented 
as  infinite ;  but  the  personal  conception  of  Deity  keeps 
this  supreme  Power  always  within  the  circle  of  human 
sympathies.  At  the  same  time  there  is  the  careful 
avoidance  of  anything  that  would  make  this  human 
conception  of  Deity  a  limitation.  In  the  first  phase  of 
Scripture,  which  we  call  the  Law,  the  supreme  sin  is  the 
sin  of  idolatry  —  the  ascribing  to  Deity  the  likeness  of 
anything  in  the  heaven  above,  in  the  earth  beneath,  or 
in  the  waters  under  the  earth ;  the  New  Testament  lays 
down  as  a  foundation  thought  that  God  is  spirit,  and  they 
that  worship  Him  must  worship  Him  in  spirit  and  in 
truth.  Thus  the  biblical  conception  of  Deity  can  never 
be  outgrown :  as  man  enlarges,  his  conception  of  God 
enlarges  with  him.  It  is  a  conception  that  is  anthropo- 
morphic only  in  the  same  sense  and  for  the  same  reason 
that  the  sky  must  appear  to  us  spherical  and  the  horizon 
circular.  With  the  expansion  of  man's  vision  comes 
the  expansion  of  his  horizon,  that  is  God. 

With  the  idea  of  God  another  idea  is  kept  side  by  side 
throughout  the  Bible  :  the  communion  between  human- 
ity and  Deity.  The  characteristic  word  of  the  Bible  is 
''covenant,"  the  expression  of  the  relationship  between 
man  and  God.  The  Bible  is  a  succession  of  covenants. 
The  Old  Covenant,  or  Old  Testament,  is  the  covenantal 

123] 


LITERARY  PEDIGREE  OF  THE  ENGLISH 

relation  between  God  and  the  People  of  Israel ;  the  New 
Covenant  —  which  makes  its  first  appearance  in  the 
book  of  Jeremiah  —  the  covenantal  relationship  between 
God  and  all  individuals  in  whose  hearts  and  inward  parts 
this  new  covenant  is  written.  The  lyrics  of  the  Old  Tes- 
tament voice  the  most  intimate  communion  between  man 
and  God.  In  the  New  Testament  the  two  have  met. 
Whatever  theology  may  formulate  as  to  the  person  of 
Jesus  Christ,  the  spirit  of  the  New  Testament  is  the 
meeting  point  of  humanity  and  Deity.  It  is  impossible 
to  read  the  Fatherhood  of  God  as  a  mere  metaphor. 
And  what  pervades  the  whole  New  Testament  is  by  the 
fourth  gospel  carried  to  a  climax :  in  its  mystic  phrase- 
ology—  "I  am  in  my  Father,  and  ye  in  me,  and  I  in 
you"  —  the  dividing  line  between  humanity  and  Deity 
has  disappeared.  Furthermore,  as  with  the  passage 
from  the  Old  Testament  to  the  New,  if  not  before,  the 
idea  of  immortality  has  come  in,  and  this  a  personal,  in- 
dividual immortality,  the  communion  between  man  and 
God  is  projected  beyond  the  grave  to  an  infinite  future. 
With  such  ideas  of  man  and  God  as  its  basis,  the  Bible 
presents  a  progression  of  things  from  first  beginnings  to 
a  final  consummation  in  a  visionary  future.  What  are 
the  leading  motives  in  this  dramatic  progression? 
They  are  two,  that  unite  to  make  a  third.  The  first 
may  be  described  as  Passionate  Righteousness.  Right- 
eousness, of  course,  is  a  basic  idea  in  all  the  world's  great 
systems  of  thought.  But  Righteousness  in  the  Bible  be- 
comes an  enthusiasm,  inspiring  the  same  ecstasy  that 
elsewhere  is  inspired  by  nature  joys,  by  love,  by  ven- 
geance.    In  the  earlier  phase  of  Scripture,  which  we  call 

[24] 


HELLENIC  AND  HEBRAIC 

the  Law,  righteousness  appears  chiefly  as  a  restraining 
force,  a  hohness  which  separates  from  what  is  around. 
It  is  with  the  prophets  that  Righteousness  becomes  pas- 
sionate, ahke  in  its  indignation  against  evil,  and  its 
glorying  in  the  vindication  of  right.  The  second  bib- 
lical motive  is  Love.  It  breathes  through  the  lyrics  of 
the  Old  Testament ;  as  the  New  Testament  progresses, 
love  becomes  more  and  more  the  supreme  attribute 
even  of  Deity  itself.  It  is  not  the  love  that  is  self-cen- 
tred, desiring  what  is  external  for  its  own  gratification ; 
but  a  love  that  goes  outwards,  a  yearning  that  by  its 
own  force  flows  over  everything  around,  until  it  can  hold 
it  in  a  universal  embrace. 

These  two  motives  combine  to  make  a  third.  From 
first  to  last  the  Bible,  in  no  uncertain  terms,  recognizes 
the  evil  that  is  in  the  world :  in  the  presence  of  evil 
Righteousness  and  Love  unite  to  make  the  supreme 
motive  of  Redemption.  This  word  we  are  so  accus- 
tomed to  associate  with  theology,  and  its  philosophical 
schemes  of  salvation,  that  it  needs  a  purely  literary  read- 
ing of  Scripture  to  realize  that  Redemption  is  of  all  con- 
ceptions the  most  poetic.  The  prophetic  rhapsodies 
read  like  the  day  dreams  of  the  spiritual  life ;  the  most 
exuberant  and  delicate  poetic  imagery  is  poured  forth 
over  the  recovery  of  the  world  from  its  moral  chaos,  its 
conquest  not  by  war  but  by  agencies  gentle  as  the  light. 
The  supreme  personality  of  prophetic  vision  announces 
his  mission  as  that  of  preaching  good  tidings  to  the  meek, 
binding  up  the  brokenhearted,  bringing  liberty  to  the 
captives,  bringing  the  oil  of  joy  for  mourning,  the  gar- 
ment of  praise  for  the  spirit  of  heaviness.     It  is  this  very 

[25] 


LITERARY  PEDIGREE  OF  THE  ENGLISH 

passage  of  the  Isaiahan  Rhapsody  which  the  Jesus  of  the 
New  Testament  makes  the  announcement  of  his  own 
mission ;  the  gospels  describe  this  work  of  heaUng  and 
redemption,  and  in  the  vision  of  the  Transfiguration 
present  the  Law  and  the  Prophets  as  doing  it  homage. 
And  the  final  vision  of  all  time  in  which  the  whole  Bible 
culminates  presents  the  figure  of  the  Redeemer  as  su- 
preme over  all  other  authority,  while  all  history  is  to  be 
summed  up  as  the  kingdom  of  the  world  becoming  the 
kingdom  of  this  Christ. 

To  come  back  to  our  main  argument :  it  is  the  an- 
cient Uteratures  which  are  inspired  by  this  Hellenic  and 
this  Hebraic  spirit  that  have  been  the  ancestral  litera- 
tures of  our  modern  English  culture.  Yet  it  is  manifest 
that  this  statement  will  not  of  itself  suffice  for  the  liter- 
ary pedigree  of  the  English-speaking  peoples.  A  third 
factor  has  to  be  recognized,  only  less  important  than 
the  first  two.  It  is  a  factor  much  more  difficult  to 
state :  we  have  in  this  case,  not  distinct  ancestral 
literatures,  but  a  complex  of  many  forces  working  to- 
gether. Nor  is  there  any  generally  accepted  term  by 
which  these  are  known.  I  will  adopt  the  expression 
Medisevalism  and  Romance :  Mediaevalism  to  describe 
the  historic  conditions ;  Romance,  the  literary  aspect 
of  the  result.  And  to  realize  clearly  this  third  factor 
of  our  pedigree,  it  will  be  necessary  to  summarize  the 
history  of  the  Middle  Ages,  the  period  of  gestation  for 
the  forces  with  which  we  are  concerned.  I  fear  that 
to  some  of  my  readers  I  shall  seem  to  be  reciting  very 
elementary  historic  facts.     But  in  a  case  like  this  it  is 

[26] 


MEDIiEVALISM  AND  ROMANCE 

the  elementary  facts  that  constitute  the  difficulty :  in 
dealing  with  so  vast  and  so  vaguely  known  a  period  as 
the  Middle  Ages  it  needs  some  resolution  to  keep  the  semi- 
relevant  details  from  obscuring  the  essential  outline. 

I.  The  Middle  Ages  should  not  be  understood  as  a 
chronological  term,  measurable  in  centuries;  it  is  the 
expression  of  the  transition  from  Roman  to  modern 
civilization.  The  Roman  Empire,  which  is  our  start- 
ing point,  was  an  Hellenic  civilization  centring  around 
the  Mediterranean :  the  name  of  this  sea  becomes 
highly  significant  in  this  connection.  On  the  east  of 
the  Roman  Empire  we  have  the  remnant  of  the  great 
Persian  Empire,  the  last  but  one  of  the  world  powers. 
To  the  same  region  belong,  what  are  important  for 
coming  movements,  the  Semitic  civilizations  of  the 
Arabs  and  the  Jews.  To  the  west  of  the  Roman  Em- 
pire lies  the  region  of  the  barbarian  peoples,  raw 
material  for  the  Europe  of  the  future.  It  is  simply 
bewildering  to  enumerate  the  separate  races,  which 
indeed  have  importance  only  in  tfeeir  amalgamation. 
We  may  perhaps  think  of  them  as  falling  into  two 
classes,  which  may  be  described  by  the  terms  *'  Ger- 
manic "  and  "  Migratory."  Germanic  is  not  here  used 
as  a  strict  ethnological  term,  but  a  number  of  allied 
stocks  may  be  signified  by  what  was  destined  to  be  their 
dominant  element.  All  barbarian  races  were  migra- 
tory. But  those  of  the  Germanic  order  migrated  only 
in  the  sense  of  gravitating  to  their  permanent  seats. 
Other  races  —  Slavs,  Huns,  eventually  Turks  —  ap- 
pear in  European  history  as  migratory  in  another  sense : 
like  sudden  floods  they  descend  at  intervals  upon  the 

[27] 


LITERARY  PEDIGREE  OF  THE  ENGLISH 

comparatively  settled  society  of  Europe,  making  epochs 
of  distm'bance  and  shock,  until  they  at  last  find  a  place 
in  the  European  system. 

II.  The  first  onward  stage  from  our  starting-point 
is  that,  slowly  but  surely,  this  Roman  Empue  becomes 
Christianized.  In  its  total  significance  this  of  course 
implies  that  Hebraic  culture  gradually  pervades  Hel- 
lenic. But  of  this  wide  revolution  a  single  aspect  has 
for  us  specific  importance.  As  part  of  the  institutions 
of  Christianity  we  have  the  rise  of  the  clergy,  an  order 
which  is  intellectual  but  not  hereditary.  As  non- 
hereditary,  the  order  of  the  clergy  becomes  a  recruit- 
ing ground  for  talent  of  all  kinds;  from  the  lowest 
ranks  of  society,  and  even  from  among  slaves,  indi- 
viduals can  by  this  means  pass  to  the  highest  positions 
of  influence.  As  an  intellectual  order,  the  clergy  make 
the  channels  by  which  culture  is  conveyed  from  the 
centre  to  every  part  of  the  vast  whole.  The  secular 
clergy  bring  the  religious  ideas  of  which  Rome  is  the 
centre  to  every  hamlet  and  every  hearth,  and  keep 
them  in  evidence  through  each  season  of  the  changing 
year.  Later  on,  the  monastic  clergy,  dissociated  from 
local  ties,  become  the  special  instrument  by  which  the 
Pope  in  Rome  maintains  his  hold  upon  all  Christen- 
dom :  the  Dominicans  and  Franciscans  are  his  eccle- 
siastical knighthood,  the  mendicant  friars  his  guerilla 
forces.  More  than  anything  else  it  is  the  order  of  the 
clergy  that  makes  the  bridge  by  which  Roman  culture 
is  transported  to  future  ages.  The  Middle  Ages 
may  almost  be  summed  up  as  the  transition  of  the 
Roman  Empire  into  the  Roman  Church. 

[28] 


MEDIEVALISM  AND  ROMANCE 

III.  We  pass  now  into  a  period  marked  by  the 
struggle  for  existence  of  the  Roman  Empire  in  conflict 
with  barbarian  races.  The  struggle  becomes  a  drawn 
battle.  The  material  side  of  civilization  passes  more 
and  more  into  the  hands  of  the  barbarians;  new  and 
vigorous  races  control  government,  yet,  as  they  settle 
into  organized  life,  become  tinctured  with  the  civiliza- 
tion they  have  conquered.  On  the  other  hand,  mental 
culture  is  retained  by  Rome  through  its  clergy.  From 
this  time  onward  we  find  a  monastic  monopoly  of 
learning.  And  the  word  "learning"  must  not  deceive 
us  :  education  down  to  its  very  elements  is  confined  to 
the  clergy.  This  is  brought  home  to  our  imagination 
by  a  curious  survival  from  this  era  into  the  far  future 
—  the  "  benefit  of  clergy,"  or  right  of  the  clergy  to  be 
tried  by  their  own  courts,  the  test  of  such  clerical 
status  being  the  power  to  read  a  book  :  a  survival  point- 
ing to  the  time  when  the  reading,  which  we  consider 
the  first  step  in  education,  was  of  itself  sufficient 
to  constitute  membership  in  the  clerical  profes- 
sion. In  this  period,  moreover,  of  struggle  and  con- 
tinual war,  not  only  is  education  confined  to  the  non- 
combatant  clergy,  but  what  culture  there  is  undergoes 
a  great  shrinkage:  we  have  the  "Dark  Ages."  The 
Hellenic  learning  that  has  descended  from  the  Roman 
Empire  becomes  contracted  to  a  minimum,  and  that 
minimum  becomes  adulterated  with  ecclesiastical 
limitations;  mathematics  tends  to  be  little  more 
than  the  "computus"  or  mode  of  determining  the  date 
of  Easter,  and  history  is  dwarfed  to  the  monastic 
chronicle.     What    is    stranger    still,    Hebraic    culture 

[29] 


LITERARY  PEDIGREE  OF  THE  ENGLISH 

undergoes  a  similar  shrinkage.  So  far  as  Christianity 
is  a  theology,  its  foundation  doctrines  are  emphasized 
by  the  mediaeval  church  and  made  prevalent.  But 
if  we  regard  Christianity  as  the  religion  of  the  Bible, 
resting  therefore  upon  the  basis  of  a  rich  and  varied 
literature,  we  seek  in  vain  for  such  biblical  culture  in 
the  Dark  Ages.  To  how  small  a  point  it  has  shrunk 
we  may  best  realize  by  noting  what  appears  long  after- 
wards, when  Europe  has  advanced  from  the  Dark  Ages 
to  the  verge  of  the  Renaissance.  We  find  a  Martin 
Luther  —  already  a  university  man,  nearing  his 
Bachelor's  degree,  and  exceptionally  inclined  to  reli- 
gious studies  —  as  he  rummages  among  books  in  the 
university  library,  coming  by  accident  for  the  first  time 
upon  a  copy  of  the  Bible,  and  finding  with  amazement 
that  it  is  a  whole  literature,  and  not  merely  the  frag- 
ments of  gospels  and  epistles  read  in  the  services  of  the 
Church :  the  shock  of  surprise  altered  his  whole  life. 
And  another  of  the  reformers,  Carlstadt,  tells  us  that 
he  was  a  Doctor  of  Theology  in  the  University  of 
Wittenberg  before  he  had  ever  read  the  Scriptures. 
The  Dark  Ages  involve  a  loss  of  knowledge  just  as 
much  as  the  confinement  of  knowledge  to  a  single  class. 
IV.  From  the  Dark  Ages  we  pass  to  the  climax  of 
"The  Holy  Roman  Empire."  The  Middle  Ages  must 
no  longer  be  described  by  negative  terms ;  they  have 
attained  a  characteristic  individuality  that  distinguishes 
a  great  period  in  universal  history.  In  other  epochs 
of  European  history  we  have  to  do  with  various  races 
and  peoples  :  in  the  Middle  Ages  European  civilization 
conceives  of  itself  as  a  single  unity,  at  once  a  Church 

[30] 


MEDIiEVALISM  AND  ROMANCE 

and  a  State.  Its  one  aspect  is  the  Holy  Catholic 
Church ;  the  other  is  the  Holy  Roman  Empire.  The 
drawn  battle  between  Rome  and  barbarism,  by  which 
the  new  races  have  won  material  power  and  Rome  has 
conquered  in  the  spiritual  world,  here  stands  fully 
displayed ;  it  is  some  German  potentate  who  represents 
the  outward  authority  of  Rome,  a  Pope  in  Rome  itself 
who  sways  all  Christendom  in  things  of  the  spmt. 
And  the  one  is  as  "holy"  as  the  other :  as  the  soul  can- 
not operate  except  through  the  body,  and  the  body  is 
dead  without  the  soul,  so  Emperor  and  Pope  may  be 
forever  struggling  for  predominance,  but  neither  can 
exist  without  the  other.  A  conception  like  this  is  the 
passionate  faith  of  great  mediaeval  thinkers  like  Dante ; 
it  no  less  plays  its  part  in  the  practical  politics  of  the 
least  imaginative  rulers  and  statesmen. 

If  from  this  general  conception  we  descend  to  analysis, 
we  find  three  elements  side  by  side  in  this  dominant 
phase  of  mediaeval  history.  We  have  the  Catholic 
Church :  the  whole  of  civilization  appears  as  a  single 
spiritual  body,  with  the  Pope  in  Rome  as  the  brain, 
and  the  clergy  as  the  ramified  system  of  nerves  by 
which  he  communicates  with  the  corporate  whole. 
The  second  element  is  the  Feudal  System.  Instead 
of  natural  divisions  of  mankind,  like  races  and  nations, 
we  find  shifting  political  units  —  the  feudal  tenures. 
The  principle  of  feudalism  is  the  combination  of  two 
things :  the  tenure  of  land  by  military  service  to  a 
superior,  and  the  hereditary  principle.  Each  feudal 
chief,  in  the  spirit  of  the  parable,  is  a  man  under  author- 
ity,  having  authorities  under  him :    supreme  in  the 

131] 


LITERARY  PEDIGREE  OF  THE  ENGLISH 

administration  of  his  own  realm,  he  yet  has  allegiance 
to  powers  above  him,  until  the  hierarchy  ends  in  the 
ideal  Emperor.  The  accidents  that  go  with  the  heredi- 
tary principle  —  failure  of  heirs,  intermarriage,  to  say 
nothing  of  violent  action  and  war  —  keep  these  units 
of  government  forever  shifting,  and  the  map  of  Europe 
changes  from  day  to  day.  To  these  two  a  third  ele- 
ment must  be  added,  prominent  not  so  much  at  the 
time  as  in  the  light  of  the  future.  The  common 
Roman  language,  acting  upon  various  local  modes  of 
speech,  begins  to  form  varjdng  languages ;  where  Latin 
is  stronger  than  local  linguistic  influence,  we  have 
Romance  languages,  Italian,  French,  Spanish;  where 
the  local  speech  is  the  stronger  of  the  two,  we  get  Ger- 
manic languages,  such  as  English  or  German.  Lan- 
guage is  the  main  basis  of  nationaUty;  and  thus  in 
the  heart  of  the  Middle  Ages,  with  its  unity  of  Euro- 
pean civilization,  are  being  gradually  prepared  the 
pohtical  units  of  the  future,  the  great  nations  of  Europe. 
V.  Thus  the  original  Roman  Empire  had  drawn  the 
barbarian  west  into  itself,  and  moulded  the  whole  into 
an  imperial  and  ecclesiastical  unity.  Meanwhile,  a 
strangely  parallel  movement  had  been  going  on  upon 
the  other  side  of  the  Mediterranean.  In  the  far  East 
another  Semitic  people  had  suddenly  risen  to  be  a 
world  power;  the  Arabs,  inspired  by  the  powerful 
individuality  of  Mahomet,  had  produced  a  new  reli- 
gion, a  perverted  Hebraism.  Appealing  as  this  religion 
does  to  the  more  facile  side  of  the  moral  nature,  it  had 
spread  like  wild-fire  through  regions  of  Indian,  Persian, 
Greek,  African  civilization,  until  from  Babylon  to  the 

[32] 


MEDIEVALISM  AND  ROMANCE 

Atlantic  coast  of  Africa  Islam  stood  up  to  confront 
Christendom.  Mohammedan  civilization,  like  Christ- 
ian, exhibits  the  blending  of  Semitic  and  Aryan  culture ; 
not  only  the  seats  of  oriental  learning,  but  Alexandria 
itself,  centre  of  Greek  literature  and  science,  had  been 
swept  into  the  Mohammedan  world.  The  parallel 
must  be  carried  a  step  further.  On  the  European  side, 
of  all  binding  forces  the  most  potent  was  the  Latin 
language,  sole  language  alike  of  religion  and  education, 
the  circulating  medium  for  ideas  from  end  to  end  of 
Christendom.  In  precisely  the  same  way,  the  Arabic 
was  the  sole  official  language  of  the  Mohammedan 
world :  in  this  medium  alone  Indian,  Persian,  Greek 
wisdom  could  find  currency.  This  has  an  important 
bearing  upon  future  history.  The  Arabians  of  the 
Middle  Ages  had  (so  to  speak)  the  main  carrying  trade 
in  ideas,  but  they  brought  nothing  of  their  own  to  the 
civilization  of  the  future.  Arabians  gave  a  great 
impulse  to  mediaeval  philosophy ;  but  they  did  this  with 
translations  of  Aristotle.  Arabians  were  the  leading 
scientists  of  the  Middle  Ages,  especially  in  the  science 
of  medicine,  with  the  great  names  of  Averroes  and 
Avicenna;  but  the  enormous  medical  literature  in 
Arabic  is  a  second-hand  literature,  and,  except  for  small 
advances  in  pharmacopoeia,  Greek  medical  art  lost, 
rather  than  gained,  in  the  hands  of  the  Arabs.  They 
gave  an  Arabic  name  to  "Algebra"  :  but  on  their  own 
showing  it  was  a  Greek  science  they  were  expounding. 
Most  important  of  all :  the  Arabic  notation  seems  to 
us  the  indispensable  foundation  of  all  mathematics, 
and  through  mathematics  of  all  exact  science.  But 
D  [33] 


LITERARY  PEDIGREE  OF  THE  ENGLISH 

the  one  thing  certain  about  the  Arabic  notation  is  that 
it  was  not  Arabic.  In  the  form  in  which  the  Arabians 
conveyed  it  to  Europe  they  had  learned  it  from  Indian 
philosophers;  but  it  is  still  a  moot  question  whether 
the  essentials  of  the  Arabic  notation  had  not  been 
established  centuries  earlier  than  this  in  the  Greek 
Alexandria.  In  spite  of  the  briUiant  mediaeval  career 
of  Arabic  learning  the  roots  of  our  civilization  remain 
Hellenic  and  Hebraic. 

VI.  It  was  inevitable  that  sooner  or  later  the  West 
and  the  East,  Christianity  and  Islam,  should  clash. 
By  what  seems  one  of  the  accidents  of  history,  the 
Arabs  —  or,  as  they  are  then  called,  the  Saracens  —  had 
been  able  to  secure  a  strong  foothold  in  the  Spanish 
peninsula  of  Europe.  From  this  as  a  base  in  the  eighth 
century  they  make  their  advances.  Europe  concen- 
trates its  full  strength  to  oppose  them  under  the  leader- 
ship of  Charles  Martel;  and  in  the  great  Battle  of 
Tours  —  as  decisive  a  world  crisis  as  Marathon  —  it 
is  settled  forever  that  there  shall  be  no  Mohammedan 
domination  of  Europe.  Three  centuries  afterwards 
we  have,  so  to  speak,  the  return  match.  In  the  suc- 
cession of  expeditions  known  as  the  Crusades  all 
Europe  put  its  strength  into  the  invasion  of  the  Sara- 
cenic world.  Christendom  proved  as  powerless  to 
subdue  Islam  as  Islam  had  been  powerless  to  defeat 
European  Christendom.  Meanwhile,  these  clashes  of 
East  and  West  had  served  as  the  great  tides  of  the 
mediaeval  ocean.  Each  civilization  had  been  strained 
to  its  highest  bent  in  conflict  with  the  other.  In  Europe, 
more  particularly,  the  constituent  parts  of  the  whole 

[34  1 


MEDIiEVALISM  AND  ROMANCE 


by  events  like  these  had  been  shaken  together;  by 
the  Crusades  Europe  was  brought  to  a  knowledge  of 
itself. 

VII.  With  these  elements  of  mediaeval  history  as  a 
basis,  we  are  now  in  a  position  to  take  a  survey  of 
mediaBval  culture.  But  here  a  distinction  must  be 
made,  if  our  survey  is  to  escape  being  burdened  with 
a  great  deal  of  what,  however  important  in  itself,  is  not 
strictly  relevant  to  our  present  purpose.  I  have  used 
the  term  '^ Middle  Ages,"  not  as  a  chronological  term, 
but  as  the  description  of  a  transition.  If  we  simply 
take  the  centuries  that  intervene  between  the  Roman 


\No' 


Aevo    European   %/,^^ 


Modern  Times 


Renaissance 


Middle  Ages 


Dark  Ages 

Empire  and  the  Renaissance,  and  analyze  the  literary 
and  philosophical  content  of  these  centuries,  a  con- 
siderable proportion  of  what  we  encounter  has  its  true 
relevance  not  so  much  to  contemporary  history  as  to 
the  future.    We  have  seen  that  in  the  midst  of  the 

[35] 


LITERARY  PEDIGREE  OF  THE  ENGLISH 

European  unity  which  is  the  essential  distinction  of 
the  IVIiddle  Ages  we  have  also  the  gradual  evolution, 
by  slow  linguistic  divergence,  of  what  are  hereafter  to 
be  the  nations  of  Europe.  The  literary  movements 
and  literary  product  of  the  mediaeval  centuries  belong 
in  a  very  considerable  degree  to  the  separate  history  of 
the  individual  European  peoples.  We  are  here  con- 
cerned only  with  that  part  of  the  whole  which,  in  a 
strict  sense,  constitutes  medisevalism. 

1.  The  foremost  element  of  mediaeval  culture  is  that 
which  is  expressed  by  the  picturesque  yet  appropriate 
name  of  Gothic  Architecture.  This  has,  of  course, 
developmental  connection  with  previous  art  —  Greek, 
Byzantine,  Saracenic ;  yet  it  is  strongly  original,  and 
seems  to  us  to  breathe  the  very  soul  of  the  centuries 
that  produced  it.  It  stands  as  the  supremely  great 
contribution  of  the  Middle  Ages  to  the  culture  of  the 
world. 

2.  We  may  notice,  next,  the  purely  ecclesiastical 
literature.  The  Christian  Fathers  make  a  library  in 
themselves,  not  only  indispensable  to  the  theologian 
and  ecclesiastical  historian,  but  holding  a  place  of  their 
own  in  philosophy.  With  these  may  be  placed  the 
grand  Latin  Hymns  of  the  Church.  Several  of  these 
in  modern  versions  are  still  a  part  of  Christian  worship. 
Yet  this  seems  to  be  a  branch  of  poetry  which  less  than 
most  lends  itself  to  translation.  The  Latin  of  these 
hymns  has  a  rhythmic  ring  as  far  removed  from  classical 
Latin  as  it  is  difficult  to  convey  into  modern  languages. 
They  are,  moreover,  strong  with  the  simplicity  that 
seems  never  to  come  after  the  early  stages  of  poetry. 

[36] 


MEDIiEVALISM  AND   ROMANCE 

In  the  feeling  of  no  few  readers,  the  Hymn  as  a  poetic 
type  has  in  these  outpourings  of  the  early  Church 
reached  its  highest  point. 

3.  Mediaeval  Science  has  already  been  mentioned, 
and  is  the  least  important  product  of  its  era.  What 
science  the  Greeks  bequeathed  to  future  ages  appears 
here  diluted  by  Arabic  and  Latin  translations,  and  still 
further  limited  by  the  ecclesiastical  uses  to  which  it  was 
put.  Medical  practice  figured  largely  in  the  Middle 
Ages,  but  medical  theory  was  almost  stationary. 

4.  Of  much  greater  importance  is  the  philosophy  of 
the  Middle  Ages,  known  by  the  name  of  Scholasticism, 
or  Doctrine  of  the  Schools.  This  forms  a  distinct 
chapter  of  Universal  Philosophy ;  one  that  must  always 
be  read  with  the  deepest  respect  for  the  mental  strength 
and  infinite  subtilty  that  it  displays.  But  it  is  a 
portion  of  philosophy  which  stands  entirely  apart  by 
itself.  As  philosophy  is  understood  elsewhere,  it  can- 
not exist  in  the  atmosphere  of  authority.  But  Scho- 
lasticism is  a  reasoned  attempt  to  harmonize  these 
two  incompatible  things,  and  to  reach  ecclesiastical 
dogma  by  logical  methods.  Hellenic  systems  of  dia- 
lectic are  applied  to  Hebraic  truths  as  laid  down  by 
ecclesiastical  authority.  The  conclusion  is  first  as- 
sumed, and  then  the  argument  may  wander  until  it 
finds  it ;  or  indeed  there  is  yet  another  alternative,  the 
position  that  something  may  be  true  in  logic  and  yet 
false  in  faith.  As  it  appears  to  me,  a  somewhat  false 
conception  of  Scholasticism  is  made  current  by  the 
way  in  which  our  histories  of  philosophy  confine  their 
notice  of  it  to  the  Nominalist  and  Realist  controversy, 

[37] 


LITERARY  PEDIGREE  OF  THE  ENGLISH 

or  at  least  to  the  works  of  the  great  scholastic  doctors, 
Anselm,  Thomas  Aqumas,  Duns  Scotus.  No  doubt 
this  is  the  portion  of  scholastic  literature  most  inter- 
esting to  the  philosophic  thinker.  But  we  must  re- 
member that  the  general  character  of  mediaeval  life 
involved,  alike  in  poetry  and  philosophy,  a  return  in 
some  measure  to  floating  literature ;  written  literature 
continued,  but  around  it  there  played  a  transitory 
literature,  vastly  greater  in  extent,  which  was  purely 
oral.  In  philosophy,  this  oral  literature  was  the  de- 
bate :  the  interminable  public  discussion  in  which 
doctor  encountered  doctor  before  an  excited  audience. 
In  such  debates  the  activity  of  the  Schoolmen  found 
its  main  expression;  the  written  works  of  the  leaders 
of  Scholasticism  were  a  small  part  of  the  whole.  Thus 
the  main  influence  of  Scholasticism  in  the  history  of 
thought  is  that  it  shifted  the  emphasis  in  philosophy 
from  investigation  or  exposition  to  disputation.  The 
combative  instinct  became  a  disturbing  force  to  logical 
sequence.  The  continuity  of  the  treatise  or  lecture 
gave  place  to  the  series  of  numbered  propositions  — 
like  the  ninety  or  hundred  theses  with  which  Luther 
and  Eck  contended  —  each  brief  proposition  a  clenched 
fist  of  challenge  to  dispute ;  a  change  closely  analogous 
to  that  other  mediaeval  change  by  which  the  literary 
continuity  of  Scripture  was  broken  up  into  numbered 
texts  for  comment.  It  was  this  aspect  of  Scholasticism 
which  impressed  the  men  of  the  modern  type  of  mind 
who  came  nearest  to  it,  men  like  Erasmus  and  Bacon. 
What  Erasmus  says  must  of  course  be  read  as  humorous 
satire. 

[38] 


MEDIEVALISM  AND  ROMANCE 

They  fence  themselves  in  with  so  many  surrounders  of  magisterial 
definitions,  conclusions,  corollaries,  propositions  explicit  and  im- 
plicit, that  there  is  no  falling  in  with  them ;  or  if  they  do  chance  to 
be  urged  to  a  seeming  nonplus,  yet  they  find  out  so  many  evasions, 
that  all  the  art  of  man  can  never  bind  them  so  fast,  but  that  an  easy 
distinction  shall  give  them  a  starting-hole  to  escape  the  scandal  of 
being  baffled.  They  will  cut  asunder  the  toughest  argument  with 
as  much  ease  as  Alexander  did  the  Gordian  Knot.  .  .  .  They  have 
yet  far  greater  difficulties  behind,  which,  notwithstanding,  they 
solve  with  as  much  expedition  as  the  former,  as  .  .  .  whether  this 
proposition  is  possible  to  be  true,  the  first  person  of  the  Trinity 
hated  the  second  ?  Wliether  God,  who  took  our  nature  on  him  in 
the  form  of  a  man,  could  as  well  have  become  a  woman,  a  devil, 
a  beast,  a  herb,  or  a  stone  ?  and  were  it  so  possible  that  the  God- 
head had  appeared  in  any  shape  of  an  inanimate  substance,  how  he 
should  then  have  preached  his  gospel  ?  or  how  have  been  nailed  to 
the  cross  ?  .  .  .  There  are  a  thousand  other  more  sublimated  and 
refined  niceties  of  notions,  relations,  quantities,  formalities,  quiddi- 
ties, haeccities,  and  such  like  abstrusities,  as  one  would  think  no  one 
could  pry  into,  unless  he  had  not  only  such  cat's  eyes  as  to  see  best 
in  the  dark,  but  even  such  a  piercing  faculty  as  to  see  through  an 
inch  board,  and  spy  out  what  really  never  had  any  being.^ 

But  Bacon's  criticism  is  sober  analysis :  — 

.  .  .  the  manner  or  method  of  handling  a  knowledge,  which  among 
them  was  this ;  upon  every  particular  position  or  assertion  to  frame 
objections,  and  to  those  objections,  solutions ;  which  solutions  were 
for  the  most  part  not  confutations,  but  distinctions :  whereas  in- 
deed the  strength  of  all  sciences  is,  as  the  strength  of  the  old  man's 
faggot,  in  the  bond.  For  the  harmony  of  a  science,  supporting  each 
part  the  other,  is  and  ought  to  be  the  true  and  brief  confutation  and 
suppression  of  all  the  smaller  sort  of  objections.  But,  on  the  other 
side,  if  you  take  out  every  axiom,  as  the  sticks  of  the  faggot,  one  by 
one,  you  may  quarrel  with  them  and  bend  and  break  them  at  your 

1  Erasmus  :  Praise  of  Folly. 
[39] 


LITERARY  PEDIGREE  OF  THE  ENGLISH 

pleasure.  .  .  .  And  such  is  their  method,  that  rests  not  so  much 
upon  evidence  of  truth  proved  by  arguments,  authorities,  simiUtudes, 
examples,  as  upon  particular  confutations  and  solutions  of  every 
scruple,  cavillation,  and  objection,  breeding  for  the  most  part  one 
question  as  fast  as  it  solveth  another.^ 

Upon  both  Erasmus  and  Bacon  we  see  that  Scholas- 
ticism impresses  itself  as  a  vitiation  of  philosophic 
method :  the  natural  perspective  of  investigation  or 
exposition  lost  in  the  perspective  of  debate. 

5.  Mediaeval  literature  includes  a  body  of  Religious 
Epic  Poetry :  of  legends,  miracles,  lives  of  saints. 
This  pervaded  the  centuries  as  a  floating  literature ;  it 
is  best  known  to  us  in  the  collection  of  these  stories, 
roughly  associated  with  the  successive  parts  of  the 
ecclesiastical  year,  under  the  name  of  The  Golden 
Legend.  This  Golden  Legend  of  course  is  not  an  epic 
poem,  but  it  may  be  regarded  as  a  cycle  of  epic  poetry. 
These  stories  of  the  saints,  more  than  anything  else, 
bring  us  into  close  touch  with  the  pulsating  everyday 
life  of  the  Middle  Ages.  It  would  be  a  shallow  criticism 
that  would  regard  these  as  the  product  of  credulity. 
Credulity  is  a  negative  that  cannot  create :  these 
golden  legends  are  filled  with  creative  reality.  It  is  at 
this  point  that  mediaevalism  is  in  sharpest  contrast 
with  the  spirit  of  the  present  age.  The  objective 
material  world,  so  clear  cut  to  us  as  seen  in  the  light 
of  science,  was  dim  to  the  men  of  the  Dark  Ages. 
Theirs  was  the  inward  vision,  the  eye  opened  to  the 
spiritual  world  interpenetrating  the  life  of  ordinary 
experience:     a    palpable    spiritual    realm    filled    with 

^  Bacon  :    Advancement  oj  Learning. 
[40] 


MEDIEVALISM  AND  ROMANCE 

hierarchies  of  superhuman  powers,  fighting  on  oppo- 
site sides  in  the  battle  of  salvation.  In  such  a  world 
miracle  becomes  the  ordinary  course  of  things;  the 
measure  of  probability  is  the  stimulus  each  incident 
gives  to  faith.  If  the  sense  of  wonder  is  present  at  all, 
it  is  present  only  as  the  salt  to  the  food  of  devotion. 

6.  To  Mediaeval  Religious  Epic  must  be  added 
Mediaeval  Religious  Drama.  The  whole  spirit  of  pub- 
lic worship  was  dramatic,  and  the  mass  was  the  daily 
presentation  of  miracle.  In  time,  complete  dramatic 
scenes  were  evolved  with  an  independent  interest  of 
their  own :  the  Miracle  Play,  in  which  the  plot  was  an 
incident  of  sacred  history ;  the  Morality,  in  which  the 
plot  was  latent  in  the  allegorical  personages  repre- 
sented. It  is  well  known  how  the  Miracle  Play  and 
Morality  became  further  and  further  dissociated  from 
their  ecclesiastical  origin;  the  use  of  realistic  details 
as  a  mode  of  vivification  introduced  a  spirit  of  seculari- 
zation, and  the  mediaeval  drama  was  at  last  brought, 
through  the  Interlude,  to  the  very  verge  of  the  modern 
play.  But  there  is  a  more  deep-seated  influeti^e  than 
this  of  mediaeval  drama  in  literary  history.  The 
Ancient  Classical  Drama  was  the  Drama  of  Situation : 
however  much  its  successive  phases  might  vary,  it  re- 
tained from  first  to  last  a  fixity  of  form  —  the  suggestion 
of  a  whole  story  through  the  actual  presentation  of  only 
a  single  situation.  The  effect  of  the  mediaeval  drama 
was  to  shift  the  dramatic  emphasis  from  situation  to  in- 
cident ;  in  the  earlier  Miracle  Plays  to  a  single  incident, 
in  the  Collective  Miracle  Play  to  a  series  of  incidents 
covering  the  whole  of  sacred  history.     In  this  way  the 

[411 


LITERARY  PEDIGREE  OF  THE  ENGLISH 

medijEval  drama  became  a  transition  stage  to  the  com- 
ing Romantic  Drama  with  its  presentation  of  whole 
stories. 

VIII.  Yet  all  that  has  so  far  been  enumerated  con- 
stitutes the  less  significant  aspects  of  medisevalism. 
The  most  important  product  of  the  Middle  Ages,  at 
least  from  the  standpoint  of  the  present  discussion, 
is  the  grand  popular  imaginative  hterature  ultimately 
to  be  known  by  the  name  of  "  Romance."  From  the 
very  beginning  of  modern  literary  history  a  leading 
question  has  been  the  Origin  of  Romance.  But  the  older 
theories  fell  into  the  error  of  seeking  single  causes  for 
this  vast  literary  phenomenon.  The  real  source  of 
Romance  is  the  constitution  of  the  Middle  Ages  as  a 
whole. 

The  Middle  Ages  constitute  a  vast  gathering  ground 
of  poetic  material  for  fusion  and  intermingling;  for 
poetic  use  at  the  time,  and  as  foundation  for  the  poetry 
of  the  future.  Europe  at  this  period  was  possessed  by 
a  sense  of  unity,  never  possible  before  or  in  the  future. 
Diversity  of  language,  the  greatest  of  dividing  forces, 
was  then  at  its  minimum ;  nationality  was  only  begin- 
ning its  process  of  formation;  the  consciousness  of 
unity,  inherited  from  the  Roman  Empire,  was  empha- 
sized by  unity  of  religion,  and  brought  home  to  daily 
life  by  uniformity  of  worship ;  there  was  one  single 
educated  class,  speaking  a  single  language  of  education. 
We  may  say  that  the  very  stratification  of  society 
tended  in  the  same  direction.  With  us,  the  divisions 
of  society  are  (so  to  speak)  vertical ;  the  higher  and 
lower  classes  of  the  same  nation  are  more  closely  in 

[42] 


MEDI.EVALISM  AND  ROMANCE 

sympathy  with  one  another  than  with  corresponding 
ranks  abroad.  In  the  Middle  Ages  the  stratification 
was  horizontal :  the  knights  formed  a  freemasonry  all 
over  Europe;  the  populace  everywhere  had  the  same 
troubles  and  the  same  clergy  to  voice  them ;  everywhere 
the  towns  had  the  same  practical  problems  and  the  same 
modes  of  meeting  them.  For  such  a  European  com- 
munity a  circulating  medium  of  ideas  was  found  in  the 
various  wandering  classes :  the  wandering  minstrels, 
the  wandering  scholars,  the  wandering  friars  and 
palmers,  the  wandering  merchants.  Finally,  great 
movements  like  the  Crusades  brought,  not  profes- 
sional armies,  but  great  bodies  of  the  people,  down 
even  in  one  case  to  children,  from  all  regions  into 
actual  personal  contact. 

Of  what  nature  were  the  poetic  materials  brought 
together  by  this  unification  of  Europe?  In  the  first 
place,  we  have  the  original  folklore  of  the  races  thus 
intermingling :  English  folklore  and  German ;  Celtic 
lore,  with  the  delicate  fairy  tracery  of  Irish  imagina- 
tion ;  Norse  heroic  saga,  in  its  poetic  potentiality 
the  peer  of  Greek  epic ;  all  the  accumulations  of 
Oriental  nations,  brought  into  Europe  by  the  Arabs  ; 
these,  in  addition  to  what  remained  of  Hellenic  story, 
especially  Greek  novels,  and  the  story  wealth  of  the 
Bible,  with  traditions  of  miracle  and  martyrdom  that 
had  gathered  round  it.  But  in  addition  to  all  this 
there  are  special  poetic  motives  generated  by  mediaeval 
life  itself.  Of  these,  the  most  prominent  is  Chivalry. 
The  feudal  system  multiplied  courts,  and  "courts" 
(as  Spenser  has  said)  are  the  root  of  "courtesy";  of 

143] 


LITERARY  PEDIGREE  OF  THE  ENGLISH 

the  gay  science  (we  may  add),  and  what  has  been 
called  "the  metaphysics  of  love"  ;  all  this  the  secular 
product  of  that  Germanic  instinct  which  m  religion 
added  Mariolatry  to  biblical  Christianity.  Again, 
we  have  Allegory  and  Mysticism :  this  is  to  be  found 
in  all  ages  of  literature,  but  we  may  look  for  it  in  special 
force  where  we  have  an  educated  class  excluded  from 
the  dominant  interests  of  war  and  love,  except  so  far 
as  these  can  appear  in  symbolic  forms.  The  interest 
of  Marvels  and  Wonderland  is  a  universal  interest; 
but  it  will  be  accentuated  in  an  age  of  travel  and  wan- 
dering life.  And  we  must  add  the  special  interest  of 
Magic.  Magic  of  some  kind  belongs  to  widely  different 
eras,  witness  the  Thessalian  Witch  and  the  Witch  of 
Endor :  it  was  the  dominating  reality  of  mediaeval 
hfe.  Gustave  Dore's  picture  of  the  Triumph  of  Christ- 
ianity represents  the  Messiah  and  his  angels  driving 
before  them  into  the  pit  of  hell  figures  easily  recog- 
nizable as  the  gods  of  Greek  or  Oriental  rehgions. 
This  exactly  reproduces  the  historic  fact :  the  Christ- 
ianization  of  the  barbarian  peoples  was,  not  the 
extinction,  but  the  conquest  of  heathendom,  the  gods  of 
the  old  religions  becoming  the  demons  of  the  new. 
Thus  was  provided  in  mediaeval  thought  a  whole  appa- 
ratus of  supernatural  powers,  warring  in  the  fight  of 
good  against  evil;  the  "White  Magic"  of  the  miracle- 
working  Church  was  pitted  against  the  "  Black  Magic  " 
of  wonders  wrought  by  demonic  powers  for  the  price 
of  human  souls.  Or,  if  any  nature  powers  were  of  too 
neutral  a  character  to  have  place  in  the  contest  of  good 
and  evil,  the  Rosicrucian  Magic  presented  these  as 

[44] 


MEDI.EVALISM  AND  ROMANCE 

elemental  beings  of  earth,  air,  fire,  water.  Chivalry, 
Allegory,  Wonderland,  Magic  —  these  together  make 
an  atmosphere  favorable  to  the  most  prolific  invention 
of  imaginative  poetry,  to  be  added  to  the  rich  imagina- 
tive stores  inherited  from  earlier  ages. 

We  have  thus  a  limitless  variety  of  poetic  materials 
and  a  common  field  on  which  they  may  unite.  The 
free  intermingling  and  fusion  of  these  varieties  is  further 
favored  by  two  circumstances.  One  is  that  in  the 
Middle  Ages  we  have  a  partial  reversion  to  the  condi- 
tions of  floating  literature.  Oral  literature  prepon- 
derates over  written;  hearers  ready  to  listen  are 
universal,  reading  is  the  special  function  of  a  profes- 
sional class.  It  is  obvious  that  writing  tends  to  fixity 
in  literature;  oral  poetry,  free  to  vary  with  every 
recitation,  makes  a  floating  medium  in  which  the  most 
varied  elements  can  come  together,  and  gradually  feel 
their  way  to  amalgamation.  To  this  it  must  be  added, 
that  all  through  the  period  under  discussion  the  limit- 
ing influence  of  criticism  was  in  abeyance.  In  Greek 
literature  creative  poetry  and  criticism  sprang  up 
simultaneously;  not  of  course  the  systematized  criti- 
cism of  an  Aristotle,  but  that  unconscious  criticism  of 
the  public  mind  which  favors  fixity  of  form  and  literary 
conservatism;  such  critical  sense  as  kept  tragedy  and 
comedy  distinct  at  Athens,  limited  dramatic  structure 
by  unity  of  scene,  or  even  resented  any  enlargement 
by  Euripides  of  dramatic  practice  followed  by  Sophocles. 
There  is  not  a  trace  of  such  critical  stiffness  in  mediaeval 
poetry.  The  tragic  and  the  comic  may  mingle  as  freely 
as  they  do  in  actual  life.     Even  the  sharp  line  that 

145] 


LITERARY  PEDIGREE  OF  THE  ENGLISH 

divides  story  from  history  has  been  lost :  the  historic 
chronicle  is  filled  in  with  imaginative  details  by  a 
trouvere,  and  becomes  history  to  a  future  chronicler. 
In  this  way  it  is  the  general  condition  of  things  we 
call  ''Mediaevalism"  that  brings  about  the  literary 
product  which  comes  to  be  called  "Romance."  The  name 
seems  natural  in  an  age  of  which  a  leading  phenomenon 
is  the  breaking  up  of  the  dominant  Roman  language 
into  a  number  of  allied  languages  the  larger  part  of 
which  go  by  the  name  of  "Romance"  languages.  The 
essential  character  of  this  Romantic  poetry  is  the 
amalgamation  of  the  literary  riches  of  many  races  in  a 
product  that  becomes  infinitely  richer  as  it  amalga- 
mates. Such  Romance  becomes  something  of  a  World 
Literature  in  itself,  as  we  follow  adventures  of  Charle- 
magne's Peers  that  involve  episodes  in  Ireland  or  Sicily, 
the  speakers  in  these  incidents  citing  parallels  from 
legends  of  Troy  or  Thebes,  with  references  to  Russia 
and  Lithuania,  while  at  times  Christian  hermits  have 
to  work  miracles  that  may  counteract  the  magic  power 
of  a  Proteus,  or  Venus,  or  Osiris.  The  supreme  creative 
power  that  can  produce  the  Greek  masterpieces  carries 
with  it,  as  its  shadow,  critical  limitations ;  these  powers 
and  limitations  may  well  be  in  abeyance  for  a  few  cen- 
turies while  new  veins  of  poetic  matter  are  being 
worked,  to  supplement  the  exhausted  material  of 
classical  poetry.  Or,  if  we  go  no  further  than  the 
elementary  consideration  of  quantity,  the  mass  of 
Romance  has  its  significance  as  a  counterpoise,  in  the 
European  mind,  to  the  overpowering  authority  of  the 
classical  models  soon  to  be  recovered. 

[  46  ] 


MEDIiEVALISM  AND  ROMANCE 

IX.  The  movement  which  terminates  the  Middle 
Ages  and  ushers  in  our  modern  times  is  known  as  the 
Renaissance.  Great  is  the  power  of  the  metaphors 
hidden  in  words :  it  has  become  a  matter  of  dispute  in 
what  sense  this  movement  is  a  "new  birth."  Some 
have  been  wilUng  to  recognize  only  a  sudden  movement, 
dated  from  the  capture  of  Constantinople  by  the  Turks 
in  A.D.  1453,  which  produced  an  exodus  of  Greek  schol- 
ars westward,  bringing  to  Europe  as  a  whole  both  the 
classical  literature  itself  and  the  classical  scholarship 
that  could  interpret  it.  But  to  take  this  view  is  to 
ignore  the  steady  advance  towards  the  constitution  of 
the  modern  world  which  had  been  made  all  through 
the  latter  part  of  the  Middle  Ages.  Others  have  made 
the  birth  of  the  modern  world  consist  in  the  recovery, 
whether  gradual  or  sudden,  of  classical  thought  and  art : 
this  ignores  the  immense  contribution  made  by  the 
Middle  Ages  to  modernism,  a  contribution  including 
Christianity  itself.  The  fundamental  principle  of  this 
work  is  that  modern  civilization  rests  upon  the  union  of 
the  Hellenic  and  Hebraic  factors.  The  Middle  Ages 
had  added  Christianity  to  Hellenism,  but  (as  we  have 
seen)  both  biblical  and  classical  literatures  were  known 
in  an  imperfect  and  distorted  form;  the  Renaissance 
from  our  point  of  view  is  the  recovery  of  Hellenic  and 
Hebraic  culture  in  their  completeness.  Thus  the 
movement  is  twofold ;  and  each  half  carries  with  it 
what  is  a  spurious  counterpart  of  itself.  In  the  first 
place,  we  have  the  complete  recovery  of  classical  litera- 
ture and  art ;  classical  manuscripts  replace  the  mediaeval 
translations  and  perversions,  and  a  classical  scholar- 

[47] 


LITERARY  PEDIGREE  OF  THE  ENGLISH 

ship  is  formed  by  the  study  of  these,  while  in  poetry 
an  era  of  translation  makes  an  apprenticeship  of 
modern  poets  to  Greek  masters.  This  is  the  Renais- 
sance Proper.  But  in  its  earlier  stages  there  goes  with 
it  the  Pseudo-Hellenism  of  the  age  of  the  Medici :  in 
religion  a  recrudescence  of  paganism,  in  art  a  blind 
worship  of  what  is  classical,  all  other  types  ignored  as 
"gothic"  barbarity.  The  other  half  of  the  Renaissance 
is  what  is  usually  called  the  Reformation.  We  now 
have  Hebraic  literature  recovered  in  its  fulness:  the 
manuscripts  brought  into  western  Europe  include  the 
Hebrew  and  Greek  Scriptures;  the  scholarship  of  a 
Budseus  and  an  Erasmus  is  applied  to  their  elucidation ; 
when  the  results  of  this  have  had  time  to  reach  the 
general  mind,  the  great  religious  movement  super- 
venes which  brings  back  Christianity  to  its  foundation 
upon  the  Bible  as  a  whole.  But  the  Reformation  in  its 
later  stages  brings  the  Pseudo-Hebraism  that  makes 
Puritanism.  The  translated  Bible  has  reached  the 
whole  people ;  it  is  a  complete  Scripture,  but  Scripture 
broken  by  mediaeval  doctors  into  texts  by  which  all 
literary  continuity  is  lost.  Melancthon's  ideal  also 
is  lost,  that  learning  should  be  the  bulwark  to  religion 
against  enthusiasm.  The  words  and  phrases  of  Scrip- 
ture, and  its  mere  surface  meanings  divorced  from 
literary  or  historic  setting,  are  seized  upon  by  a  reli- 
gious earnestness  that  mistakes  the  fervor  of  novelty 
for  spiritual  inspiration ;  faith  and  culture  are  divorced, 
and  tumultuous  religious  warfare  supersedes  the  sanity 
of  devotion.  It  is  only  when  this  fever  of  distorted 
Hebraism  has  worn  itself  out  that  the  biblical  element 

[481 


MEDIiEVALISM  AND  ROMANCE 

can  be  recognized  in  its  true  influence  on  the  formation 
of  the  modern  world. 

X.  Thus  Modern  Culture,  the  point  up  to  which  this 
discussion  has  led,  may  be  summed  up  as  a  New 
Thought,  a  New  Poetry,  a  New  Religion,  and  a  New 
Art.  A  New  Thought :  we  have  a  fresh  start  of 
science  and  philosophy  from  the  point  at  which  the 
Greeks  left  off.  But  the  intervening  period  has  pro- 
duced two  inventions  which  have  revolutionized  think- 
ing. The  silent,  unheralded,  almost  unperceived  rise 
of  scientific  experimentation,  not  only  has  restored 
observation  as  the  essential  basis  of  science  and  phi- 
losophy, but  further  serves  to  carry  this  observation 
direct  to  the  crucial  points  at  which  truth  is  likely  to 
be  found.  The  more  obvious  invention  of  printing 
perpetuates  and  distributes  records :  the  ancient  con- 
ception of  philosophy,  which  leads  each  thinker  to 
attempt  a  complete  explanation  of  all  things,  gives 
place  to  the  New  Thought,  in  which  observers  and 
thinkers  of  all  races  and  generations  gradually  resolve 
into  a  cooperation  for  the  advance  of  truth,  as  limitless 
as  the  human  race  itself.  We  have  again  a  New 
Poetry :  the  combined  influences  of  Medisevalism  and 
Hellenism  give  to  modern  literature  its  fundamental 
antithesis  of  Romantic  and  Classical.  These  are  the 
centripetal  and  centrifugal  forces  of  creative  literature : 
the  Classical  impulse  is  towards  echoing  the  poetry  of 
the  past,  ministering  to  an  established  sense  of  form, 
recalling  creative  details  already  dear  to  the  imagina- 
tion in  ever  new  kaleidoscopic  variations ;  the  Roman- 
tic impulse  is  towards  novelty,  free  invention  and 
B  [49] 


LITERARY  PEDIGREE  OF  THE  ENGLISH 

surprise.  The  mutual  play  of  these  antithetic  ten- 
dencies keeps  poetry  in  wholesome  equilibrium.  And 
there  is  a  sense  in  which  a  New  Religion  distinguishes 
the  modern  world.  It  will  have  its  Protestantism  and 
Catholicism,  its  religions  of  authority,  its  rationalistic, 
mystical,  or  agnostic  systems.  But  all  alike  will 
differ  from  what  has  gone  before  by  their  free  play  of 
religious  thought,  in  which  authority  itself  must  be  a 
voluntarily  accepted  authority.  And  they  will  all 
rest  upon  an  Hebraic  basis :  to  whatever  limit  their 
final  conclusions  maj^  be  carried,  the  only  possible 
starting-point  for  modern  religions  will  be  the  moral 
and  spiritual  conceptions  of  which  the  Bible  is  the 
literary  monument.  In  a  somewhat  different  sense 
we  may  speak,  finally,  of  a  New  Art  for  the  modern 
world.  The  other  arts  have  come  to  us  by  a  continuous 
development,  quickened  no  doubt  by  the  Renaissance ; 
but  the  special  art  of  the  modern  world  is  the  art  of 
music.  It  has  its  roots  in  the  ecclesiastical  worship 
of  the  mediaeval  church  and  the  folk  songs  of  European 
peoples.  But  the  backbone  of  musical  art  is  the  orches- 
tra, in  which  of  course  human  voices  find  a  place  as 
one  type  of  instruments.  Now  the  orchestra  is  in- 
separably bound  up  with  mechanical  invention,  the 
great  achievement  of  modern  times.  Each  invention 
of  a  musical  instrument,  or  enlargement  of  the  power 
of  an  existing  instrument,  means  an  enlargement  of 
musical  thought ;  the  enlarging  musical  thought  in  its 
turn  calls  for  enlarged  instrumental  technique,  until 
what  leaders  of  music  in  Beethoven's  day  pronounced 
impossible,  has  become  easy  to  our  modern  players. 

[50] 


MEDI.EVALISM  AND  ROMANCE 

Music  thus  becomes  the  most  progressive  of  the  fine 
arts.  And  it  is  music  which  has  placed  the  modern 
world  on  a  par  artistically  with  the  greatest  ages  of 
the  past.  A  symphony  of  Beethoven  or  Tschaikowsky, 
rendered  by  one  of  the  half-dozen  supremely  equipped 
orchestras  of  our  own  day,  is  as  colossal  an  artistic 
achievement  as  a  statue  by  Phidias  or  Cologne  Cathe- 
dral. 

These  seem  to  be  the  historic  considerations  that 
determine  the  descent  of  our  modern  English  culture 
from  influences  of  antiquity,  and  its  varied  relationship 
with  the  culture  of  other  peoples.  We  recognize  two 
ultimate  factors :  ancestral  literatures,  completed  and 
belonging  to  the  far  past.  A  third  factor  is  the 
complex  of  historic  conditions  and  literary  relation- 
ships constituting  Mediaevalism,  in  its  literary  aspect 
Romance;  into  this  Mediaevalism  the  primitive  Eng- 
lish literature  passed,  along  with  the  primitive  litera- 
tures of  allied  European  races,  and  in  this  way  entered 
into  associations  with  the  culture  of  various  peoples, 
ancient  and  modern.  The  original  chart,  with  which 
(on  page  12)  we  sought  to  indicate  the  relationship  of 
English  civilization  to  the  main  civilizations  of  the 
world,  needs  to  be  modified  in  order  to  give  its  proper 
place  to  this  new  factor  of  Mediaevalism  and  Romance. 
As  so  modified  (page  52),  it  may  stand  for  the  Liter- 
ary Pedigree  of  the  English-speaking  Peoples,  bringing 
out,  in  all  that  has  a  bearing  upon  literature,  our 
nearer  or  more  remote  relationship  to  the  rest  of  the 
world.  It  thus  satisfies  one  of  the  two  conditions 
necessary  for  forming  our  conception  of  World  Litera- 

[51] 


QJ     <U 

<u  o   t> 

O 

.E  i=3 

•E 

Oja 

•S  «  i 

<U    O    u 

:c:zcj7 

o 

o 


o 

M 
H 

O 

« 
o 

o 

Ph 


/ 


ca  c  C 
*c  2  -— 

^  w  a 

<C  LU 


I—  en  «*  LlJ 


CQ 


[52] 


ENGLISH  WORLD  LITERATURE 

ture.  The  other  condition  is  that  intrinsic  literary 
value  shall  have  its  full  recognition,  by  which  particular 
portions  of  literature  may  be  brought  from  most  dis- 
tant historic  relationship  into  the  foreground  of  our 
literary  perspective. 

Ill 

WORLD   LITERATURE   FROM   THE   ENGLISH   POINT   OF 

VIEW 

All  that  has  been  attempted  so  far  has  been  prelimi- 
nary. The  purpose  of  this  work  is  the  practical  realiza- 
tion of  World  Literature  from  the  English  point  of  view  : 
actual  selection  of  literature  entering  into  this  concep- 
tion, and  a  grasp  of  the  spirit  in  which  such  literature 
is  to  be  approached.  It  is  manifestly  an  assistance  to- 
wards this  purpose  to  have  at  the  start  something  like  a 
map  of  literature  as  a  whole ;  only  a  small  part  of  this 
whole  can  be  compassed,  yet  at  least  the  instinct  of 
choice  is  provided  with  a  sense  of  direction  in  which  to 
move. 

As  a  step  in  the  solution  of  our  problem  I  wish,  bor- 
rowing a  term  from  religious  phraseology,  to  speak  of 
Literary  Bibles.  The  great  religions  of  the  world  rest 
each  on  its  sacred  books ;  it  seems  not  improper  to  ex- 
tend a  word  familiar  in  this  connection  to  collections  of 
works  holding  a  somewhat  analogous  position  in  the 
purely  literary  field.  In  its  full  conception,  the  word 
"bible"  combines  wide  range  of  literature  with  high  sig- 
nificance of  matter  and  some  sense  of  literary  unity ;  it 
further  suggests  a  process  of  selection  already  accom- 

[53] 


CONSPECTUS  OF  WORLD  LITERATURE 

plished  by  evolution,  a  survival  of  the  spiritually 
fittest.  Viewing  universal  literature  from  our  English 
standpoint,  it  appears  to  me  that  five  such  Literary 
Bibles  may  be  recognized.  The  first  is  of  course  the 
Holy  Bible :  this  comprehends  in  its  completeness  one 
out  of  our  two  ancestral  literatures.  For  the  other  an- 
cestral literature,  the  Hellenic,  we  may,  I  think,  make 
an  approach  to  such  representation — but  only  an  ap- 
proach —  by  a  particular  combination  of  Classical  Epic 
and  Tragedy,  a  combination  which  will  give  us  a  unity, 
and  will  include  the  Classical  Uterature  which  has  most 
powerfully  influenced  the  poetry  of  succeeding  ages. 
Again,  from  the  English  point  of  view,  the  unique  po- 
sition held  by  Shakespeare  suggests  a  third  Literary 
Bible.  We  may  attain  a  fourth  if  we  place  side  by  side, 
as  two  elements  of  an  antithesis,  the  Divine  Comedy  of 
Dante  and  the  Paradise  Lost  of  Milton — the  supreme 
expression,  respectively,  of  Mediaeval  Catholicism  and 
Renaissance  Protestantism.  Once  more,  it  is  interest- 
ing to  note  how  the  Story  of  Faust,  welling  up  from  the 
fountain  of  mediaeval  legend,  has  attracted  the  highest 
minds  of  the  modern  world,  leading  to  successive  literary 
presentations  of  the  same  theme  varied  in  their  poetic 
dress,  and  still  more  contrasted  in  the  underlying  phi- 
losophy ;  these  Versions  of  the  Faust  Story  will  consti- 
tute a  fifth  Literary  Bible.  These  five  Literary  Bibles 
put  together  will  in  themselves  make  a  nucleus  of 
World  Literature.  They  will  be  the  subject  of  the  five 
chapters  that  immediately  follow.^ 

'  Mr.  Denton  J.  Snider,  in  an  organization  known  as  the  St. 
Louis  (subsequently  the  Chicago)  Literary  School,  used  to  deal  with 

[54] 


FROM  THE  ENGLISH  POINT  OF  VIEW 

Our  chart  of  literary  pedigree  distinguishes  between 
those  elements  of  universal  literature  which  enter  di- 
rectly into  our  literary  evolution,  and  those  which  bear 
to  it  a  more  remote  relationship,  or  are  altogether  ex- 
traneous. The  five  Literary  Bibles  just  suggested  are 
concerned  with  the  first  class ;  what  portions  of  the 
other  literatures  can  be  drawn  into  our  scheme  will  be 
discussed  in  the  sixth  chapter  on  Collateral  Studies  in 
World  Literature. 

When  this  much  has  been  secured,  a  due  representa- 
tion of  our  nearer  and  more  remote  literary  affiliations,  a 
large  scope  is  left  for  individual  choice.  But  the  free- 
dom of  individual  choice  may  yet  be  true  to  the  essential 
idea  of  feehng  after  the  unity  of  literature,  especially  if 
it  seeks  to  draw  together  analogous  works  from  different 
quarters  of  the  literary  field.  The  scientific  treatment 
of  our  subject  has  indicated  a  similar  purpose  by  its 
name  of  Comparative  Literature.  The  seventh  chap- 
ter, on  Comparative  Reading,  will  suggest  an  analogous 
principle  applicable  to  the  most  general  reader's  enjoy- 
ment of  literature. 

The  standpoint  of  this  work  is  literary  culture,  as  dis- 
tinguished from  literary  science.  Now,  it  has  been 
characteristic  of  the  ''gentle  reader" — as  the  last  cen- 
tury styled  him  —  that  he  has  always  laid  emphasis 
upon  literature  as  a  revelation  of  the  personality  of  the 

the  general  literary  field  by  the  assumption  of  four  World  Bibles 
—  Homer,  Dante,  Shakespeare,  Goethe.  Though  the  particular 
selection  does  not  satisfy  me,  yet  I  have  always  considered  this 
one  of  the  most  interesting  attempts  to  compass  in  practical  educa- 
tion the  study  of  World  Literature. 

[55  1 


CONSPECTUS  OF  WORLD  LITERATURE 

author.  In  the  past  no  doubt  this  has  been  carried  to 
excess,  and  hterary  biography,  not  to  say  Uterary  gossip, 
has  passed  muster  for  the  study  of  Uterature.  Yet  the 
instinct  is  a  sound  one;  it  is  the  high  prerogative  of 
literature  to  bring  us  into  contact  with  the  best  minds. 
But  this  is  attained  in  the  highest  degree  when  we  seek, 
not  what  others  tell  of  authors,  but  the  self -revelation 
these  authors  vouchsafe  in  certain  literary  forms  con- 
secrated to  this  very  purpose.  The  eighth  chapter  of 
this  work  will  deal  with  Literary  Organs  of  Personality : 
Essays  and  Lyrics. 

When  all  that  is  possible  has  been  done  in  the  way  of 
direct  principles  bearing  upon  a  conception  of  World 
Literature,  there  will  still  remain  a  vast  proportion  of 
the  whole  field  that  has  been  untouched,  a  vaster  propor- 
tion, it  will  appear,  than  any  single  mind  can  hope  to 
reach.  To  meet  this  consideration,  our  ninth  chapter 
will  offer  suggestions  on  Strategic  Points  in  Literature : 
the  selection  of  literature  possibly  not  more  important 
in  itself  than  other  literature,  yet  of  special  value  for 
the  correlation  of  literature  with  literature,  or  for  its 
bearing  on  the  historic  considerations  that  assist  such 
correlation. 

The  final  chapter  will  seek  to  bring  back  the  argument 
from  the  parts  to  the  whole,  and  emphasize  the  high 
significance  of  World  Literature  so  far  as  we  can  attain 
it.  Such  World  Literature,  it  will  suggest,  is  nothing 
less  than  the  Autobiography  of  CiviUzation. 


[56 


SURVEY  OF   WORLD   LITERATURE 

Chapter        I.    The  Five  Literary  Bibles.  — The  Holy  Bible 

Chapter  IL  The  Five  Literary  Bibles.  —  Classical  Epic  and 
Tragedy 

Chapter    III.    The  Five  Literary  Bibles.  —  Shakespeare 

Chapter  IV.  The  Five  Literary  Bibles. — Dante  and  Milton: 
The  Epics  of  Mediaeval  Catholicism  and  Renais- 
sance Protestantism 

Chapter  V.  The  Five  Literary  Bibles.  —  Versions  of  the  Story 
of  Faust 

Chapter     VI.  Collateral  Studies  in  World  Literature 

Chapter    VII.  Comparative  Reading 

Chapter  VIII.  Literary  Organs  of  Personality:  Essays  and  Lyrics 

Chapter     IX.  Strategic  Points  in  Literature 

Chapter  X.  World  Literature  the  Autobiography  of  Civiliza- 
tion 


[571 


CHAPTER  I 

THE   FIVE   LITERARY   BIBLES 

The  Holy  Bible 

IN  our  task  of  reducing  the  miscellaneous  vast- 
ness  of  universal  literature  to  that  practicable 
unity  which  is  to  be  called  world  literature,  we  begin 
by  recognizing  what  I  have  ventured  to  call  the  five 
literary  bibles.  First  and  foremost  of  these  is  the 
Holy  Bible,  which  is  the  foundation  of  our  modern 
religion.  But  in  approaching  our  sacred  scriptures 
from  the  literary  side  we  are  met  at  the  outset  by  a 
strange  difficulty,  which  amounts  indeed  to  nothing 
less  than  this  —  that  in  the  course  of  its  transmission 
through  the  ages  the  Bible  has  almost  entirely  lost 
its  literary  form.  The  question  is  not  of  translation: 
while  of  course  no  version  can  be  perfect  or  final,  yet 
we  have  reason  to  be  well  content  with  what  our 
biblical  translators  have  done  for  us.  Nor  is  it  neces- 
sary to  dwell  upon  beauty  of  style :  the  English  Bible 
has  had  a  large  share  in  determining  our  very  concep- 
tions of  literary  style.  But  a  literature  implies  some- 
thing more  than  correct  language  and  charm  of  dic- 
tion. A  literature  is  made  up  of  a  great  variety  of 
literary  forms  —  epic  poems,  lyrics,  dramas,  orations, 

[59] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

essays,  historical  and  philosophical  works,  and  the  like : 
the  discrimination  of  such  forms  is  essential  not  only 
for  the  full  force  but  even  for  the  interpretation  of  a 
Uterary  work.  A  man  who  should  peruse  a  drama 
under  the  impression  that  he  was  reading  an  essay 
would  go  wildly  astray  as  to  the  significance  of  what 
he  was  reading;  this  would  be  an  obvious  truth  were 
it  not  that  such  a  thing  seems  inconceivable.  But 
this  is  precisely  the  kind  of  thing  which  happens  in 
connection  with  the  Bible.  The  Hebrew  Scriptures 
go  back  to  an  antiquity  in  which  the  art  of  manu- 
script writing  was  in  an  embryonic  condition ;  when 
manuscripts  scarcely  divided  words  and  sentences, 
much  less  indicated  distinctions  between  prose  and 
verse,  between  one  metre  and  another,  between  speeches 
in  dialogue,  or  even  the  simplest  divisions  in  straight- 
forward prose.  The  delicate  varieties  of  biblical  litera- 
ture, however  clear  they  might  be  to  the  ages  that 
first  received  them,  must,  for  their  preservation,  be 
committed  to  manuscripts  of  this  kind,  manuscripts  in 
which  all  literary  forms  would  look  alike.  It  appears, 
then,  that  the  form  of  our  modern  bibles  has  been 
given  to  them,  not  by  the  sacred  writers  themselves, 
but  by  others  who,  centuries  later,  had  charge  of  the 
scriptures  at  the  time  when  manuscripts  began  to 
indicate  differences  of  form.  Now  these  were  rab- 
binical and  mediaeval  commentators :  men  to  whom 
literary  form  meant  nothing,  but  who  regarded  the 
Bible  as  material  for  commentary,  each  short  clause 
being  worthy  of  lengthened  disquisition.  The  form 
such  conmientators  w^ould  give  to  their  scripture  would 

[60] 


THE  HOLY  BIBLE 

naturally  be  that  of  texts  for  comment.  In  this  form 
of  numbered  texts  or  verses  it  came  down  to  our  trans- 
lators; the  most  elementary  distinction  of  form,  that 
between  prose  and  verse,  was  not  discovered  in  relation 
to  the  Hebrew  Scriptures  until  more  than  a  century 
after  King  James's  Version  had  been  completed.  The 
bibles  most  commonly  circulated  amongst  us  are  these 
bibles  in  mediaeval  form;  however  correct  the  trans- 
lation may  be,  they  remain  a  double  misrepresentation 
of  the  sacred  original,  as  ignoring  on  the  one  hand 
the  literary  varieties  of  form,  and  on  the  other  hand 
presenting,  in  their  chapters  and  verses,  a  structure 
which  is  alien  to  the  Bible  itself,  and  is  the  creation  of 
mediaeval  commentators. 

I  take  a  brief  illustration  from  the  Preface  to  the 
Modern  Reader's  Bible.  Such  a  passage  as  Hosea, 
chapter  xiv,  verses  5-8,  would  in  an  ancient  manu- 
script (if  we  assume  the  language  to  be  EngUsh)  have 
appeared  thus :  — 

IWILLBEASTHEDEWUNTOISRAELH 
ESHALLBLOSSOMASTHELILYANDC 
ASTFORTHHISROOTSASLEBANONH 
ISBRANCHESSHALLSPREADANDHI 
SBEAUTYSHALLBEASTHEOLIVETR 
EEANDHISSMELLASLEBANONTHEY 
THATDWELLUNDERHISSHADOWSHA 
LLRETURNTHEYSHALLREVIVEAST 
HECORNANDBLOSSOMASTHEVINET 
HESCENTTHEREOFSHALLBEASTHE 
WINEOFLEBANONEPHRAIMSHALLS 
AYWHATHAVEITODOANYMOREWITH 
I  DO LS I  H AV E A N SW E R E D A N  DW  I  LLR 
EGARDHIMIAMLIKEAGREENFIRTR 
EEFROMMEISTHYFRUITFOUND 
161] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

This  the  mediaeval  commentators  broke  up  into  short 
masses  —  sentences,  texts,  propositions  —  of  what  they 
considered  a  convenient  length  for  discussion,  and  num- 
bered them  for  reference. 

5.  I  will  be  as  the  dew  unto  Israel :  lie  shall  blossom  as  the 
lily,  and  cast  forth  his  roots  as  Lebanon. 

6.  His  branches  shaU  spread,  and  his  beauty  shall  be  as  the 
olive  tree,  and  his  smeU  as  Lebanon. 

7.  They  that  dwell  under  his  shadow  shall  return ;  they  shall 
re\-ive  as  the  corn,  and  blossom  as  the  vine :  the  scent  thereof  shall 
be  as  the  wine  of  Lebanon. 

8.  Ephraim  shaU  say.  What  have  I  to  do  any  more  with  idols  ? 
I  have  answered,  and  wiU  regard  him :  I  am  like  a  green  fir  tree ; 
from  me  is  thy  fruit  found. 

Yet  a  brief  examination  of  the  passage  is  sufficient 
to  show  that  it  is  a  portion  of  a  dramatic  scene ;  and 
its  structure  ought  to  be  exhibited  as  that  of  dramatic 
dialogue. 

THE    LORD 

I  will  be  as  the  dew  unto  Israel :  he  shall  blossom  as  the  lily, 
and  cast  forth  his  roots  as  Lebanon.  His  branches  shall  spread, 
and  his  beauty  shaU  be  as  the  olive  tree,  and  his  smeU  as  Lebanon. 
They  that  dwell  under  his  shadow  shall  return ;  they  shall  revive 
as  the  corn,  and  blossom  as  the  vine :  the  scent  thereof  shall  be  as 
the  wine  of  Lebanon. 

EPHEAIM 

What  have  I  to  do  any  more  with  idols? 

THE    LORD 

I  have  answered,  and  will  regard  him. 

EPHRAIM 

I  am  like  a  green  fir  tree  — 

THE    LORD 

From  me  is  thy  fruit  found. 

162] 


THE  HOLY  BIBLE 

This  accident  of  tradition  has  had  far-reaching 
consequences.  A  bible  thus  broken  up  into  sentences 
becomes  obscure,  and  needs  assistance  for  its  inter- 
pretation; the  assistance  comes  in  the  shape  of  com- 
mentary and  annotation,  with  references,  cross-refer- 
ences, chain  references,  and  all  the  familiar  apparatus 
of  biblical  helps.  But  the  remedy  aggravates  the 
disease :  the  exegesis  which  seems  to  do  so  much  in 
the  way  of  elucidation,  and  which  of  course  does  elu- 
cidate the  particular  sentences,  yet  hangs  a  curtain  of 
disconnectedness  between  the  reader  and  the  impression 
of  the  literary  whole.  For  in  exegesis  the  unit  is  a  sen- 
tence, in  literature  the  unit  is  a  book ;  that  is  to  say,  a 
drama  or  lyric  or  oration,  whatever  the  particular  form 
may  be.  In  literature  the  whole  is  something  different 
from  the  sum  of  the  parts.  A  drama  acted  as  a  whole 
upon  a  stage,  even  though  the  presentation  be  crude 
and  the  actors  only  faintly  literary,  yet  brings  us  nearer 
to  the  dramatic  significance  than  the  reading  of  many 
annotated  editions  of  the  play,  which  may  give  scholarly 
help  as  to  sentences  and  allusions,  yet  leave  plot,  char- 
acter, and  dramatic  movement  to  take  care  of  themselves. 
Two  things  then  are  necessary  to  the  realization  of  the 
Bible  as  literature  in  the  truest  sense.  We  must  in  the 
first  place  do  for  it  what  is  as  a  matter  of  course  done 
for  all  other  literature,  ancient  or  modern  —  we  must 
print  it  in  its  complete  literary  structure,  a  structure 
discovered  by  internal  evidence  and  literary  analysis. 
Dialogue  must  appear  as  dialogue,  with  distinction  of 
speeches  and  names  of  speakers ;  verse  must  appear 
with  the  proper  variations  of  metre ;  epic  must  be  dis- 

[63] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

tinguished  from  history,  essay  from  song :  such  struc- 
tural presentation  goes  far  towards  making  commen- 
tary superfluous.  But  to  this  must  be  added  a  changed 
habit  of  mind.  To  the  interpretation  of  exegesis  must 
be  added  the  interpretation  of  perspective  :  which  takes 
in  a  hterary  work  as  a  whole,  examines  the  mutual  rela- 
tion of  its  parts,  feeling  always  after  that  unity  which  is 
the  soul  of  a  work  of  art.  Only  when  all  this  has  been 
done  can  the  Bible  take  its  proper  place  among  the 
literatures  of  the  world.  With  the  spiritual  import  and 
the  theological  interpretation  we  are  not  here  concerned. 
But  the  devout  reader  may  rest  assured  that  literary 
presentation  can  but  assist  theology,  so  far  as  theology 
is  sound.  The  heterogeneous  and  mutually  contra- 
dictory theological  notions  which  are  confidently  sup- 
ported by  biblical  quotations  are  possible  only  with  a 
Bible  broken  up  into  sentences,  in  which  the  separate 
verses,  like  the  separate  sticks  of  a  faggot,  can  be  broken 
or  bent  in  accordance  with  preconceived  ideas. ^ 

When  the  Bible  is  restored  to  its  full  Hterary  struc- 
ture, it  presents  itself,  not  as  a  book,  but  as  a  library 
—  a  library  of  very  varied  literature,  varied  in  date,  in 
authorship,  and  in  the  types  of  literature  represented. 
Two  lines  of  study  offer  themselves  to  the  reader.  He 
may  take  up  particular  books  of  scripture,  realizing  their 
intrinsic  interest,  and  how  their  classification  enlarges 

1  The  Modern  Reader's  Bible  (see  page  484)  presents  the  whole 
Bible,  with  part  of  the  Apocrypha,  in  complete  hterary  structure. 
The  translation  is  the  Revised  Version  (text  or  margin).  The 
order  of  the  books  is  not  the  traditional  order,  nor  any  attempted 
historical  reconstruction,  but  the  "hterary  sequence"  referred  to 
below  (pages  72-6). 

164] 


THE  HOLY  BIBLE 

our  ideas  of  literary  form.  But  there  is  the  further  in- 
terest of  noting  how  the  books  of  the  Bible,  which  seem 
so  miscellaneous,  are  yet  found  to  draw  together  into 
the  Uterary  unity  of  the  Bible  as  a  whole. 


It  has  been  the  tradition  to  say  that  the  Bible  contains 
no  epic.  Such  a  statement  is  possible  only  to  the  lim- 
ited criticism  that  squares  its  notions  solely  by  those  of 
the  Greeks.  When  we  go  back  to  first  principles  of  lit- 
erary classification,  it  is  easy  to  distinguish  in  the  Bible 
the  narrative  that  is  history,  concerned  with  the  connec- 
tion of  things,  from  the  narrative  that  is  story,  making 
its  appeal  to  the  imagination  and  the  emotions.  These 
stories  are  in  prose,  and  stand  as  part  of  the  annals  of 
Israel,  to  which  they  lend  the  emphasis  of  historic  pic- 
tures. It  is  only  when  we  read  these  biblical  stories  as 
a  whole,  apart  from  the  historic  context,  that  we  realize 
what  a  wealth  of  creative  story  the  Bible  contains.  The 
past  is  re-created  for  us,  with  the  crisp  simplicity  of 
presentation  that  is  the  note  of  ancient  epic.  Idyls, 
like  the  story  of  Tobit  or  Ruth,  have  kept  fresh  the  by- 
play of  common  life  as  life  was  some  three  thousand 
years  ago.  The  stories  of  Genesis  restore  to  us  the  patri- 
archal age,  a  family  life  into  which  the  sense  of  higher 
and  spiritual  things  was  gradually  coming.  With  the 
''judges,"  so  called,  we  have  an  heroic  age  of  achieve- 
ment and  adventure ;  in  the  stories  of  the  prophets  we 
have  a  truly  epic  conflict  between  the  spiritual  and  the 
secular  elements  of  national  life.  Instead  of  the  Bible 
!•  [65] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

containing  no  epic,  the  truth  is  that  the  epic  spirit  is 
found  to  interpenetrate  the  whole  national  history. 

Still  more  strange  sounds  the  statement  sometimes 
made  that  the  Bible  contains  no  drama.  What  is 
meant,  apparently,  is  that  the  Hebrew  people  had  no 
theatre;  this  is  true,  and  is  a  curious  fact.  But  the 
dramatic  instinct,  denied  its  natural  channel,  is  found 
to  have  spread  through  Hebrew  literature  as  a  whole, 
until  all  parts  of  it  seem  interfused  with  the  spirit  of 
dramatic  movement.  We  have  the  philosophic  drama 
of  Job;  the  series  of  dramatic  idyls  which  make  up  the 
story  of  Solomon's  Song.  The  book  of  Deuteronomy  is 
unique  as  an  oratorical  drama  :  a  series  of  orations  and 
songs  developing  a  pathetic  situation  to  a  noble  climax 
in  the  farewell  of  Moses  to  Israel.  But  the  most  char- 
acteristic of  these  forms  comes  from  prophecy ;  only 
the  amorphous  printing  of  our  bibles  could  have  con- 
cealed from  readers  how  large  a  part  of  biblical  prophecy 
is  in  dialogue,  and  how  often  this  dialogue  intensifies  to 
a  special  type  of  literature — the  "Rhapsodic  Drama," 
to  which  the  nearest  counterpart  in  secular  literature 
is  perhaps  such  a  poem  as  the  Prometheus  of  Shelley. 
These  rhapsodies  are  laid  wholly  in  the  region  of  the 
spiritual ;  the  workings  of  Divine  Providence  are  made 
to  pass  before  the  mental  eye  with  all  the  intensity  of 
dramatic  movement.  The  actors  of  these  spiritual 
scenes  include  God,  the  Celestial  Hosts,  the  Nations  of 
the  earth,  Israel  or  Zion  personified,  the  Watchmen 
of  Jerusalem  bearing  tidings  from  abroad ;  with  less  of 
personality  Voices  carry  on  the  dialogue.  Voices  of  the 
Saved  or  the  Doomed,  Voices  from  the  East  and  the 

[66] 


THE  HOLY  BIBLE 

West,  Cries  from  the  Hills  of  Ephraim  or  from  outside 
the  Holy  Land ;  impersonal  Songs  break  in  at  intervals, 
like  chorales  in  modern  oratorio,  to  spiritually  celebrate 
the  action  that  is  passing.  The  changing  scenes  are  be- 
held in  vision,  or  described  by  the  prophetic  spectator. 
The  movement  may  be  successive  stages  of  advancing 
doom,  changing,  as  in  Joel,  into  equally  regular  stages  of 
salvation.  Or  it  may  be  sudden  :  the  sight  of  the  Chal- 
deans stalking  triumphant  through  the  earth  gives  place 
to  the  sound  from  the  distant  future  of  the  victims  tri- 
umphing over  Chaldea's  fall ;  the  pall  of  destruction  is 
rent  to  display  the  mountain  of  salvation  bright  with 
sunshine  and  song.  Of  course  such  spiritual  scenes  are 
less  easy  to  follow  than  the  drama  of  ordinary  life  that 
can  realize  itself  upon  a  visible  stage.  But  what  is 
lost  in  simplicity  is  less  than  what  is  gained  in  the  wide 
reaches  of  spiritual  movement  and  solemnity  of  import. 
Perhaps  the  dramatic  masterpiece  of  universal  litera- 
ture is  the  "  Rhapsody  of  Zion  Redeemed,"  which 
makes  the  latter  half  of  our  book  of  Isaiah. 

The  prophetic  discourse  is  amongst  the  most  familiar 
forms  of  biblical  literature ;  but  it  is  to  be  noted  that 
discourse,  in  the  general  sense  of  the  word,  is  by  proph- 
ecy enlarged  to  include  two  very  special  types.  One 
is  the  Rhapsodic  Discourse,  so  much  affected  by  Jere- 
miah ;  what  begins  as  simple  oratory  suddenly,  as  if 
by  the  raising  of  a  curtain,  merges  in  rhapsodic  scenes 
of  advancing  judgment.  The  other  is  Emblem  Proph- 
ecy, which  is  symbolic  discourse.  In  its  simplest  form 
this  implies  no  more  than  some  visible  or  moment- 
ary action — the  rending  of  a  robe   or   the  wearing 

[67] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

of  the  yoke  of  slavery —  assumed  as  a  text  or  visible 
starting-point  for  discourse.  By  Ezekiel,  however, 
this  Emblem  Prophecy  is  developed  to  what  makes  a 
unique  species  in  the  history  of  literary  art ;  histrionic 
action  and  oratorical  speech  are  carried  on  side  by  side, 
elaborately  interwoven.  Among  the  prophets  Ezekiel 
is  the  consunmiate  artist :  how  impressive  to  the  original 
hearers  were  these  acted  sermons  is  seen  in  many  pas- 
sages of  Ezekiel,  in  which  the  audience  interrupt  with 
excited  exclamations.  It  is  seen  again  in  the  familiar 
passage,^  in  which  the  prophet  seems  to  complain  that  the 
frivolous  as  well  as  the  earnest  among  his  fellow-captives 
were  flocking  to  the  prophet's  house  as  if  to  hear  ''a 
very  lovely  song  of  one  that  hath  a  pleasant  voice  and 
can  play  well  on  an  instrument " ;  we  may  paraphrase — 

as  some  to  church  repair, 
Not  for  the  doctrine,  but  the  music  there. 

The  supremacy  of  biblical  Ijo-ics  has  been  universally 
recognized.  But  here,  as  in  other  cases,  Hebrew  poetry 
enlarges  our  ideas  of  literary  form  and  adds  a  new  con- 
ception of  lyric  poetry.  This  is  largely  due  to  a  well- 
known  peculiarity  of  the  Hebrew  language,  by  which 
the  basis  of  its  verse  is  a  parallelism  of  clauses  that  be- 
longs almost  equally  to  prose ;  the  result  is  a  remarkable 
literary  elasticity,  with  the  utmost  freedom  of  blending 
or  making  transitions  between  prose  and  verse.  In- 
deed, it  is  only  as  a  matter  of  practical  convenience  that 
the  terms  ''prose"  and  "verse"  can  be  applied  to  bibli- 
cal literature ;    what  we  really  have  is  a  most  delicate 

*  Ezekiel  xxxiii.  32. 
[681 


THE  HOLY  BIBLE 

rhythmic  difference,  somewhat  Hke  that  in  music  be- 
tween recitative  and  strict  time.  The  combination 
of  the  two  admits  of  unhmited  variations  and  deUcate 
shadings,  rhythmically  reflecting  variations  and  shad- 
ings of  thought.  Especially  to  be  noted  is  the  Doom 
Form,  so  common  in  prophetic  literature ;  here  mono- 
logues of  Deity,  expressed  in  what  may  be  called  prose, 
are  continually  interrupted  by  highly  rhythmic  pas- 
sages that  realize  or  dilate  upon  what  has  been  said,  as  if, 
when  Deity  is  the  speaker,  the  word  and  its  fulfilment 
must  be  heard  together.  Such  Dooms  are  sometimes  a 
simple  denunciation  of  Edom  or  some  other  foe  of  Israel ; 
sometimes  they  present  more  elaborately  a  Day  of  the 
Lord.  Or,  in  Nahum,  the  Doom  can  become  an  elabo- 
rate rhapsodic  picture  of  Nineveh  in  its  fall :  the  careless 
security  of  the  city  merging  in  the  surprise  of  the  sudden 
attack,  the  din  of  city  activity  blending  with  the  crash 
of  ruin,  victims  carried  into  captivity  before  they  have 
realized  that  war  has  begun,  the  slain  corpses  of  the 
city's  crimes  huddled  against  the  corpses  slain  by 
the  advancing  foe,  the  curtain  of  solitude  settling  down 
upon  the  late  busy  scene;  while  through  these  phases 
of  destruction  from  first  to  last  the  Voice  of  Jehovah 
has  been  heard  denouncing  the  moral  corruption  and 
speaking  the  word  of  judgment. 

A  large  part  of  the  sacred  scriptures  is  philosophy; 
yet  the  word  "philosophy  "seems  to  be  carefully  avoided. 
This  is  Biblical  Wisdom :  a  philosophy  not  divorced 
from  creative  literature.  The  philosophy  of  all  litera- 
tures begins  with  such  wisdom ;  but  in  Greek  and  mod- 
ern literatures  the  philosophy  is  soon  seen  to  have  trav- 

[69] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

elled  far  from  poetry  and  practical  life,  and  to  become 
analytic  reflection  on  the  nature  of  things.  Scriptural 
wisdom  is  a  reflection  on  the  sum  of  things,  but  the  re- 
flection has  always  a  bearing  upon  conduct ;  further,  all 
the  forms  of  poetry  and  prose  seem  to  be  at  its  service. 
The  earlier  books  of  wisdom  convey  their  sense  of  the 
harmony  reigning  through  the  universe  in  hymns  to 
Wisdom;  these  hymns  are  a  special  form  of  poetry, 
which  seems  to  have  the  spirit  of  the  modern  sonnet, 
though  not  its  fixity  of  structure.  In  Ecclesiasticus,  the 
Baconian  type  of  essay  is  seen  gradually  developing  out 
of  the  primitive  gnome  or  proverb.  What  may  be 
called  prose  hymns  dilate  upon  the  wonders  of  God  in 
external  nature.  Personal  monologues  are  found  mak- 
ing a  part  of  philosophical  exposition :  the  personality 
is  sometimes  that  of  the  wicked,  sometimes  the  histori- 
cal personality  of  Solomon ;  sometimes  the  speaker  is 
Wisdom  personified,  or  the  opposite  of  this  in  the 
"Strange  Woman  " — the  suggestive  phrase  which  insin- 
uates the  idea  that  sin  is  a  "  foreigner  "  or  intruder  in 
God's  good  universe.  And  all  through  the  other  liter- 
ary forms  the  primitive  proverb  or  epigram  has  free 
course,  some  of  the  later  monologues  being  almost  mo- 
saics of  such  popular  sayings.  The  climax  of  such  wis- 
dom literature  is  the  many-sided  Book  of  Job.  This  is, 
in  the  first  place,  a  complete  drama ;  it  has  an  open-air 
scene,  changing  at  the  end  to  a  scene  of  storm  and  tem- 
pest ;  it  has  personal  speakers  with  a  silent  chorus  of 
spectators ;  its  dramatic  movement  culminates  in  the 
descent  of  Deity.  But  the  drama  is  also  a  philosophic 
discussion :    the  different  speakers  are  associated  with 

[70] 


THE  HOLY  BIBLE 

the  ideas  of  wisdom  literature  in  the  different  stages  of 
its  history,  while  the  dramatic  situation  is  a  simple 
situation  of  every-day  life,  which  challenges  the  fixed 
idea  of  ancient  wisdom  that  righteousness  and  prosper- 
ity must  go  together.  And,  to  complete  this  intermin- 
gling of  literary  forms  in  Job,  the  problem  at  issue,  proved 
insoluble  in  the  drama  that  enacts  itself  on  earth,  finds 
solution  in  the  prophetic  revelation  of  heaven  that  makes 
the  prologue  and  epilogue  of  the  poem. 

If  then  we  go  no  farther  than  the  consideration  of  par- 
ticular books  of  scripture,  we  can  see  that  the  literary 
importance  of  the  Bible  is  not  less  than  its  spiritual  sig- 
nificance. There  is  need  of  Hebrew  ''classics  "  to  supple- 
ment the  classics  of  the  Greek  and  Latin  languages. 
One  of  the  greatest  obstacles  in  the  way  of  literary  study 
taking  its  proper  place  in  the  circle  of  the  sciences  is  the 
fact  that  literary  criticism  unfortunately  crystallized 
too  early;  the  principles  formulated  by  Aristotle  for 
the  single  literature  of  the  Greeks  came  to  be  mistaken 
for  universal  principles  binding  upon  universal  literature. 
A  corrective  for  this  traditional  misconception  is  at  hand 
in  the  study  of  biblical  literature,  which,  in  whatever 
direction  we  look,  is  found  to  enlarge  our  conceptions  of 
literary  form.  Much  may  be  truly  said  as  to  the  value 
of  literary  study  for  the  elucidation  of  the  Bible.  But 
the  converse  of  this  is  not  less  true :  that  biblical  study  is 
essential  for  a  sound  and  well-balanced  literary  criticism.^ 

1  The  whole  question  of  the  literary  forms  represented  in  Scrip- 
ture is  discussed  in  my  Literary  Study  of  the  Bible  (see  below,  page 
485).  A  briefer  treatment  wiU  be  found  in  my  Short  Introduction  to 
the  Literature  of  the  Bible. 

[71] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 


II 

I  pass  on  to  the  second  of  the  two  kinds  of  literary  in- 
terest attaching  to  the  sacred  scriptures,  that  connected 
with  their  unity.  What  we  call  the  Bible  is  a  collection 
of  some  jfifty  or  sixty  different  books  —  books  written  in 
Hebrew,  Greek,  or  Aramaic ;  of  great  variety  of  date 
and  authorship  and  (as  we  have  just  seen)  literary  form. 
They  have  been  brought  together  —  in  what  is  techni- 
cally called  the  history  of  the  canon  —  by  a  process  of 
natural  selection,  a  survival  of  the  spiritually  fittest, 
the  basis  of  which  is  theological,  or  certainly  not  liter- 
ary. Yet  for  all  this,  these  books  of  scripture,  read  in 
their  proper  sequence,  are  felt  to  draw  together  with  a 
connectedness  as  clear  as  the  successive  stages  of  a  dra- 
matic plot. 

At  this  point,  however,  great  caution  is  necessary. 
When  I  speak  of  the  books  of  scripture  being  read  in 
their  proper  sequence,  I  refer  to  a  sequence  which  is 
literary,  not  historical.  One  of  the  great  difficulties  of 
our  subject  is  that,  at  the  present  time,  the  study  of 
literature  is  overshadowed  by  the  more  flourishing  study 
of  history,  and  the  spheres  of  the  two  studies  are  con- 
tinually being  confused.  There  is  another  analysis  of 
scripture,  widely  different  from  that  which  is  here  at- 
tempted, which  goes  below  the  surface  of  scripture,  in- 
tent on  questions  of  origins,  analyzes  the  text  into  what 
may  appear  its  component  materials,  dates  these  compo- 
nent elements,  and  attempts  reconstruction.  I  repeat 
what  has  already  been  said  in  the  Introduction  to  this 

172] 


THE  HOLY  BIBLE 

work,  that  all  this  is  highly  important  in  its  own  field, 
but  that  field  is  not  literary,  nor  in  the  proper 
sense  bibHcal.  It  is  clear  that  the  product  of  historical 
analysis  can  be  nothing  else  but  history.  The  matter 
of  our  Bible,  when  it  has  been  subjected  to  historical 
reconstruction,  ceases  to  be  the  Bible,  and  becomes 
something  quite  different :  something  important  to  the 
historic  specialist,  a  valuable  exhibit  for  a  museum  of 
Semitic  studies.  It  is  not  the  positive  history  of  Israel 
—  which,  hke  all  history,  must  undergo  reconstruction 
with  each  stage  of  advancing  historic  science  —  that  has 
revolutionized  the  spiritual  ideas  of  the  world,  and  come 
to  constitute  a  priceless  possession  of  universal  culture. 
The  Bible  which  has  done  all  this  is  one  particular  inter- 
pretation of  the  history  of  Israel,  a  spiritual  interpre- 
tation made  once  for  all  by  the  sacred  writers,  and 
embodied  in  a  literature  that  stands  as  final  and  unal- 
terable. 

This  distinction  between  the  literary  and  the  historic 
conception  of  the  Bible  will  appear  increasingly  im- 
portant as  we  proceed  with  our  task  of  realizing  the 
unity  of  scripture.  At  first,  when  we  try  to  think  into 
a  connected  whole  the  varied  works  of  this  scripture,  we 
may  get  an  impression  that  what  we  have  before  us  is 
history,  for  the  simple  reason  that  one  who  has  read 
through  the  Bible  from  cover  to  cover  has  traversed  the 
ages  from  the  creation  to  the  first  century  of  our  era. 
But  this  is  only  a  first  impression.  Upon  examination 
we  find  that  history  in  the  Bible  is  no  more  than  an  his- 
toric framework,  a  connective  tissue  holding  together 
the  higher  literary  forms  —  epic,  lyric,  song,  drama,  dis- 

[73] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

course,  and  the  like  —  in  which  higher  forms  is  con- 
tained the  life  and  spirit  of  the  whole.  The  sacred  his- 
torians themselves  seem  impatient  of  the  work  of  history, 
as  appears  in  numerous  passages  of  this  nature :  — 

Now  the  rest  of  the  acts  of  [such  and  such  a  king],  and  how  he 
[did  this  and  that],  are  they  not  written  in  the  books  of  the  chron- 
icles of  the  kings  of  Judah?  etc. 

The  biblical  writers  refer  their  readers  to  other  works  if 
they  desire  history :  what  is  being  given  is  no  more  than 
historic  outline  for  more  significant  kinds  of  writing. 
To  this  consideration  another  must  be  added.  What  I 
am  calling  the  historic  framework  appears  to  be  late  in 
date ;  the  higher  forms  of  literature  it  encloses  are  of  all 
dates,  early  and  late.  In  calling  the  historic  framework 
late,  it  is  not  meant,  necessarily,  that  the  actual  sen- 
tences containing  it  were  written  at  a  late  date.  No 
doubt  those  who  constructed  our  scriptures  found  earlier 
records  upon  which  they  drew,  piecing  different  records 
together,  much  in  the  same  way  that  we  of  the  present 
time  make  harmonies  of  the  four  gospels,  piecing  to- 
gether passages  from  each  to  make  a  continuous  biogra- 
phy of  Jesus.  It  is  this  construction  of  the  framework 
that  was  late,  while  (I  repeat)  the  stories,  songs,  dis- 
courses so  enclosed  are  of  all  dates  from  the  earliest  to 
the  latest. 

Now,  all  this  is  important  as  suggesting  for  the  Bible 
the  literary  form  of  an  autobiography.  For  how  is  an 
autobiography  composed?  No  one  supposes  that  the 
chapter  on  the  hero's  childhood  was  written  by  him 
when  he  was  a  child,  or  that  the  account  of  his  marriage 

[74  1 


THE  HOLY  BIBLE 

and  early  business  struggles  was  composed  during  the 
period  of  his  courtship  and  apprenticeship.  The  author 
would  probably  be  advanced  in  life  before  he  would 
come  to  conceive  the  idea  of  writing  his  autobiography ; 
as  an  elderly  man  he  would  write  the  account  of  his  child- 
hood, but  would  insert  in  this  account  his  actual  childish 
attempts  at  poetry,  or  letters  home ;  as  an  elderly  man 
he  would  tell  the  tale  of  his  courtship  and  his  entry  into 
his  profession,  supporting  these  with  specimen  love- 
letters  or  early  business  documents.  The  continuous 
narrative,  constructed  late,  would  be  a  framework  for 
literary  illustrations  dating  from  all  parts  of  his  career. 
In  the  same  way  the  Bible  appears  as  an  autobiography : 
not  the  autobiography  of  an  individual,  or  even  of  a 
nation,  but  the  autobiography  of  a  spiritual  evolution. 
The  Old  Testament  is  the  History  of  the  People  of  Israel 
as  presented  by  itself.  The  New  Testament  is  the  His- 
tory of  the  Primitive  Church  as  presented  by  itself. 
It  would  be  late  in  its  history  before  the  People  of  Israel, 
at  last  fully  realizing  its  sacred  mission,  set  itself  to  think 
out  the  successive  stages  of  its  career,  inserting  in  the 
account  of  each  of  these  stages  the  stories,  songs,  dis- 
courses, dramas,  to  which  that  stage  had  given  origin. 
The  Primitive  Church  would  have  proceeded  some  way 
in  its  development  before  the  early  Christians,  finding 
verbal  traditions  begin  to  waver,  undertook  'Ho  draw 
up  a  narrative  concerning  those  matters  which  had  been 
fully  established  among  them,"  as  these  matters  had 
been  ''delivered  by  eyewitnesses  and  ministers  of  the 
word"  ;  with  such  narrative  the  New  Testament  would 
include  the  successive  sayings,  discourses,  epistles,  which 

[75] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

constituted  the  witness.  Once  more  we  see  the  impor- 
tance of  insisting  upon  the  Uterary  view  of  the  Bible. 
For  literature  is  of  two  kinds :  the  literature  which  is 
progressive,  each  stage  attained  superseding  previous 
stages;  and  the  literature  which  is  fixed  and  eternal. 
The  greatest  work  of  science  or  philosophy  must  in  a 
short  time  become  antiquated,  or  by  annotation  be 
brought  up  to  date.  But  does  any  one  think  of  bringing 
the  Iliad  up  to  date,  or  of  modernizing  Shakespeare? 
It  is  the  high  prerogative  of  poetry  that  from  the  mo- 
ment it  comes  into  existence  it  is  final  and  eternal. 
Now,  autobiography  belongs  to  that  class  of  literature 
which  is  thus  eternal  and  unalterable.  Had  the  sacred 
literature  taken  the  form  of  science  or  history,  there 
must  have  been  a  revised  Bible  for  each  fresh  genera- 
tion ;  and  this,  not  because  of  weakness  in  the  Bible 
itself,  but  from  the  very  nature  of  history  and  science. 
But  as  the  autobiography  of  our  religion  the  Bible  stands 
fixed  and  unalterable ;  more  truly  than  any  creed,  it  is 
our  sacred  hterature  that  makes  the  ''faith  once  for  all 
dehvered  to  the  saints." 

Given  the  general  conception  of  the  Bible  as  a  whole, 
it  becomes  not  difficult  to  outline  its  hterary  structure. 
We  commonly  think  of  the  Bible  as  in  two  divisions, 
an  Old  and  New  Testament ;  it  is  better  to  regard  it 
as  threefold,  in  order  to  do  justice  to  certain  books 
that  stand  entirely  apart  from  all  the  rest.  These  are 
the  books  of  wisdom :  Proverbs,  Ecclesiastes,  and  Job 
in  the  Bible  itself,  with  which  must  be  associated 
Ecclesiasticus  and  Wisdom  in  the  Apocrypha.  How 
distinct  is  the  character  of  these  books  will  appear 

[76] 


THE  HOLY  BIBLE 

when  we  remember  that  in  three  out  of  the  five  there 
is  no  mention  of  Israel,  or  of  its  Messianic  hopes,  its 
temple  service,  its  law;  in  the  other  two,  while  insti- 
tutions of  Israel  are  recognized,  they  have  no  bearing 
on  the  main  purpose  of  the  books.  We  may  think  of 
these  books  of  wisdom  as  belonging  to  the  interval 
between  the  Old  and  New  Testaments ;  chronologically 
this  is  true  of  a  considerable  part  of  wisdom  literature, 
while  as  regards  logical  relation  to  the  rest  of  scripture 
it  describes  wisdom  as  a  whole.  When  the  sun  goes 
down,  the  stars  come  out;  when  the  high  spiritual 
hopes  of  the  theocracy  have  died  down  into  disappoint- 
ment, and  before  a  new  starting-point  for  theology  has 
been  found  in  the  career  of  Jesus,  the  consideration  of 
simple  human  life  comes  naturally  into  emphasis,  and 
wisdom  hterature  is  the  devout  contemplation  of 
human  life.  Thus  we  may  conceive  of  the  Bible  as  a 
drama  in  two  great  acts,  with  wisdom  hterature  as  an 
interlude  between  two  theologies. 

The  Old  Testament  is  the  Old  Covenant,  and  this 
is  the  covenant  between  God  and  the  people  of  Israel. 
Eleven  chapters  of  the  Bible  serve  as  prologue  to  what 
follows.  They  describe  previous  covenants  between 
God  and  all  mankind  as  represented  in  common  an- 
cestors, first  Adam  and  then  Noah ;  in  each  case  the 
covenant  breaks  down  and  the  world  relapses  into  sin ; 
at  the  last,  as  indicated  by  the  Babel  incident,  the  sinful 
world  is  breaking  up  into  nations.  This  is  the  point 
where  the  history  of  Israel  can  begin :  a  single  nation 
is  chosen  from  the  rest,  that  through  them  all  other 

[77  1 


THE   FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

nations  may  be  blessed ;  in  other  words,  they  are  chosen 
to  be  a  revelation  of  their  God  to  the  rest  of  the  world. 
Following  this,  the  Old  Testament  falls  into  five  well- 
marked  historic  divisions.  Genesis  gives  us  the  "  ori- 
gin "  of  the  Chosen  People :  the  brief  historic  outline 
and  successive  stories  of  the  Patriarchs  trace  a  family 
expanding  to  the  point  at  which  it  may  change  into  a 
nation.  The  second  division  is  the  "Exodus,"  or 
emigration  to  the  land  of  promise ;  this  is  treated  as  the 
period  of  constitutional  development,  and  hence  its 
three  books  {Exodus,  Leviticus,  Numbers),  m  addition 
to  framework  and  stories,  are  filled  with  constitutional 
documents,  chiefly  covenants,  that  is,  re-statements 
from  time  to  time  of  the  relations  between  the  people 
and  its  God.  Between  the  second  and  third  divisions 
of  the  Old  Testament  is  placed,  with  great  literary 
impressiveness,  the  oratorical  drama  of  Deuteronomy ;  if 
such  an  expression  might  be  allowed,  this  is  the  graduat- 
ing exercise  of  Israel,  and  the  now  developed  nation  is 
launched  on  its  life-work  with  its  founder's  blessing :  — 

The  Eternal  God  is  thy  dweUing  place, 
And  underneath  are  the  everlasting  arms. 

The  history  that  follows  is  the  great  transition  from  a 
theocracy  to  a  secular  government ;  the  books  of  this 
third  division  (Joshua,  Judges,  part  of  Samuel)  may  be 
unified  under  the  title  of  "The  Judges."  These 
heroes  of  Israel's  history  make  a  transition  to  the  king- 
ship that  is  to  succeed,  in  the  temporary  or  partial 
national  unity  they  effect  under  the  stress  of  special 
emergencies. 

[78] 


THE  HOLY  BIBLE 

We  reach  the  fourth  and  main  division  of  Old  Testa- 
ment history  with  the  complete  estabhshment  of  the 
kingship.  Yet,  if  the  title  is  to  describe  the  matter, 
this  portion  of  the  Bible  must  be  styled  ''The  Kings  and 
Prophets."  In  the  history  of  modern  self-governing 
peoples  we  regularly  have  an  administration  and  an  op- 
position, the  function  of  the  opposition  as  important 
as  that  of  the  administration.  So  with  Israel  we  have 
a  secular  government  of  kings  and  a  spiritual  opposi- 
tion of  prophets;  as  the  word  ''prophet"  implies,  these 
are  ''mouthpieces  of  God,"  representatives  of  the  older 
conception  of  the  theocracy.  Thus  this  portion  of  the 
history  (the  latter  part  of  Samuel  and  the  books  of 
Kings)  becomes  annals  of  the  kings  with  stories  of  the 
prophets.  A  distinction  must  be  taken  between  the 
earlier  and  the  later  prophets.  The  earlier  prophets, 
with  Elijah  at  their  head,  are  men  of  action,  entering 
into  biblical  literature  only  as  heroes  of  prophetic  sto- 
ries. The  later  prophets,  without  ceasing  to  be  men 
of  action,  are  also  men  of  letters,  the  great  poets,  ora- 
tors, dramatists,  of  Israel.  Men  like  Isaiah  and  Jere- 
miah do  for  their  own  generation  all  that  Elijah  and 
Micaiah  had  done  for  theirs ;  but  besides  all  this  they 
have  the  gift  to  remould  the  matter  of  their  daily  min- 
istrations in  rich  and  varied  literary  forms,  that  carry 
a  spiritual  message  for  all  time.  Hence  a  slight  change 
in  the  form  of  scripture.  Hitherto  the  stories  and  songs 
have  been  inserted  at  the  point  of  the  historic  out- 
line to  which  they  belong ;  when  Israel  has  reached 
its  full  literary  maturity  with  the  later  prophets  this 
arrangement  becomes  impracticable.     The  historic  out- 

[79] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

line  is  allowed  to  complete  itself  in  the  latter  part  of 
Kings,  while  the  books  of  the  prophets,  from  Isaiah 
to  Malachi,  make  a  separate  literary  division.  Some- 
times a  book  of  prophecy  is  a  single  literary  work; 
more  often  a  miscellany  of  varied  literary  types.  These 
books  of  the  prophets,  with  the  still  more  miscellaneous 
Book  of  Psalms,  must  be  understood  as  holding  the 
same  relation  to  the  history  in  Kings  that  the  earlier 
stories  and  songs  have  held  to  their  narrative  context. 

But  more  is  to  be  noted  than  a  change  of  literary 
form :  the  whole  course  of  the  history  that  is  being 
presented  undergoes  the  modification  which  makes 
the  crisis  in  the  dramatic  movement  of  the  Old  Testa- 
ment. The  brilliant  literature  of  the  prophets,  how- 
ever rich  and  varied  may  be  the  forms  in  which  the 
sacred  message  is  clothed,  is  nevertheless  found  to  rest 
upon  just  two  fixed  thoughts.  The  prophets  tell  of  a 
golden  age  of  righteousness  in  the  future ;  this  mental 
attitude  of  seeking  the  golden  age  in  the  future,  and  not 
in  the  past,  makes  the  reading  of  bibhcal  prophecy  a 
moral  inspiration.  The  other  note  of  prophecy  is  the 
purging  judgment  through  which  alone  this  golden  age 
may  be  reached.  Now,  as  the  history  proceeds  it 
becomes  more  and  more  evident  that  this  gulf  of  judg- 
ment, on  the  other  side  of  which  is  the  golden  age,  is 
to  mean  nothing  less  than  the  fall  of  Israel  as  a  nation. 
The  Old  Testament  is  moving  to  its  decay;  yet  not 
before  there  has  been  a  vision  of  a  New  Testament. 
Jeremiah,  whose  life-work  brings  him  into  closest  con- 
tact with  the  stages  of  Israel's  fall,  is  the  one  who  sees 
most  clearly  that  which  is  to  come. 

[80] 


THE  HOLY  BIBLE 

Behold,  the  days  come,  saith  the  Lord,  that  I  will  make  a  new 
covenant  with  the  house  of  Israel,  and  with  the  house  of  Judah : 
not  according  to  the  covenant  that  I  made  with  their  fathers  in  the 
day  that  I  took  them  by  the  hand  to  bring  them  out  of  the  land  of 
Egypt ;  which  my  covenant  they  brake.  .  .  .  But  this  is  the  cove- 
nant that  I  will  make  with  the  house  of  Israel  after  those  days, 
saith  the  Lord  ;  I  will  put  my  law  in  their  inward  parts,  and  in 
their  heart  will  I  write  it. 

The  covenant  between  God  and  a  Chosen  People  is 
breaking  down,  but  there  is  to  be  a  covenant  between 
God  and  individual  hearts;  the  theocracy  of  the  Old 
Testament  is  to  come  to  an  end,  but  there  is  a  vision 
of  the  kingdom  of  God  that  is  within.  In  the  light 
of  such  a  vision  we  follow  the  remaining  stages  of  the 
history.  Israel  is  carried  into  captivity;  there  is  no 
biblical  history  of  the  exile,  yet  it  is  pictured  for  us  in 
the  stories  of  Daniel  and  Esther.  Then  we  reach  the 
fifth  and  last  division  of  Old  Testament  history,  the 
Chronicles  of  the  Return.  It  is  not  the  whole  people 
who  return  from  captivity,  but  only  those  whose  hearts 
are  set  upon  the  restoration  of  the  Divine  worship; 
here  the  nation  of  Israel  has  changed  into  the  Jewish 
Church.  Its  literature  is  the  Ecclesiastical  Chronicles 
of  Israel  (the  books  of  Chronicles  with  their  sequel, 
Ezra  and  Nehemiah).  What  is  thus  presented  is  a 
strenuous  effort  to  restore  that  which,  in  reality,  has 
passed  away;  prophecy,  with  its  eyes  on  the  future, 
falls  into  the  background,  and  the  dominant  element 
is  the  law,  with  its  eyes  on  the  past,  more  and  more 
fastening  upon  the  letter  and  external  ceremony,  from 
beneath  which  the  inspiration  has  forever  gone.  With 
this  final  phase  of  a  Jewish  Church,  fully  realizing  its 

G  [811 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

mission  to  the  nations  of  the  earth,  idolizing  law  and 
forgetting  prophetic  vision  of  the  spiritual  future,  the 
curtain  descends  upon  the  Old  Testament. 

But  there  is  one  prophetic  poem,  most  splendid  of 
all,  which  stands  as  epilogue  to  the  Old  Testament, 
gathering  up  its  whole  movement  and  spirit  in  poetic 
presentation.  The  Rhapsody  of  Zion  Redeemed  — 
our  name  for  the  latter  half  of  the  Book  of  Isaiah  — 
in  its  main  scene  pictures  the  nations  of  the  world 
standing  before  the  bar  of  God ;  on  the  one  side  the 
idolatrous  nations,  on  the  other  side  Israel.  Jehovah 
challenges  the  idols  "to  declare  former  things,  to  show 
things  to  come" ;  in  other  words,  to  put  an  interpreta- 
tion upon  the  whole  course  of  events  from  first  to  last. 
Clearly  it  is  a  Divine  philosophy  of  history  that  we 
are  receiving  in  dramatic  form.  When  the  idols  are 
dumb,  Jehovah's  interpretation  is  given.  He  proclaims 
Israel  as  his  servant :  the  service  is  to  bring  the  nations 
under  His  law.  But  not  by  violence :  the  bruised  reed 
he  shall  not  break,  the  smoking  flax  he  shall  not  quench, 
yet  he  must  be  preserved  until  he  has  brought  light  to 
the  Gentiles.  When  the  interrupting  outburst  of  exul- 
tation has  died  away,  the  proclamation  continues : 
this  servant  is  blind  and  deaf,  has  for  his  sins  fallen 
into  the  prison-house  of  the  nations ;  the  conquering 
career  of  Cyrus  has  brought  deliverance,  and  there 
comes  forth  a  blind  servant  that  hath  eyes,  a  deaf  ser- 
vant that  hath  ears.  Two  ideas  are  thus  presented. 
One  is  simple :  the  restoration  to  Israel  of  its  sense  of 
its  Divine  mission;  a  subsequent  scene  makes  this 
Israel  a  witness  to  the  nations,  inviting  the  peoples 

[82] 


THE  HOLY  BIBLE 

of  the  world  to  enter  into  the  commonwealth  of  Israel. 
The  other  is  an  idea  that  we  read  with  ever  increasing 
wonder :  in  this  ancient  biblical  book  is  enshrined, 
with  most  powerful  poetic  setting,  the  thought  which 
twenty  following  centuries  of  religious  war  and  perse- 
cution failed  to  grasp,  the  idea  that  in  the  spiritual 
world  physical  force  is  powerless;  by  agencies  gentle 
as  the  light  may  a  world  be  conquered  for  God.  As 
the  drama  continues,  a  change  seems  to  come  over  the 
central  figure :  the  servant  of  Jehovah  from  a  nation 
becomes  a  personality  that  can  suffer  martyrdom ;  yet 
again  it  becomes  a  mystic  personality  whose  sufferings 
are  at  last  recognized  by  the  nations  as  vicarious. 
Another  scene  pictures  a  moral  chaos :  at  the  point  of 
extremity  Jehovah  himself  resolves  to  bring  salvation. 
As  the  strains  of  the  hymn  to  Redeemed  Zion  die  away, 
the  Redeemer  seems  to  make  his  entry,  announcing 
his  glorious  mission. 

The  spirit  of  the  Lord  God  is  upon  me ;  because  the  Lord  hath 
anointed  me  to  preach  good  tidings  unto  the  meek ;  he  hath  sent  me 
to  bind  up  the  brokenhearted,  to  proclaim  Uberty  to  the  captives, 
and  the  opening  of  the  prison  to  them  that  are  bound ;  to  proclaim 
the  acceptable  year  of  the  Lord,  and  the  day  of  vengeance  of  our 
God ;  to  comfort  all  that  mourn ;  to  appoint  unto  them  that  mourn 
in  Zion,  to  give  unto  them  a  garland  for  ashes,  the  oil  of  joy  for 
mourning,  the  garment  of  praise  for  the  spirit  of  heaviness. 

From  this  ministry  of  healing,  the  drama  proceeds 
on  its  course  to  its  climax  in  the  Day  of  Judgment. 
Thus  in  this  poem  the  whole  spirit  of  the  Old  Testament 
is  dramatically  gathered  up.  The  nation  that  was  to 
bring  the  other  nations  to  its  God  has,  in  the  course  of 

[83] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

history,  broken  down.  Its  divine  mission  has  risen 
in  a  glorified  form :  the  Servant  of  Jehovah  that  is  to 
be  shall  gather  in  the  nations,  not  by  war  and  conquest, 
but  by  the  gentle  agencies  of  healing  and  redemption. 

In  following  the  movement  of  scripture  as  a  whole, 
we  have  now  reached  the  interval  between  the  Old 
and  the  New  Testament,  an  interval  which,  we  have 
seen,  is  filled  by  wisdom  literature.  But  this  wisdom 
literature  has  a  movement  of  its  own.  The  most 
important  aspect  of  this  scriptural  philosophy  is  that 
which  is  expressed  by  the  word  '' Wisdom"  used  as  a 
personification.  This  higher  Wisdom  includes,  not 
only  human  character  as  a  whole,  but  also  the  spirit  of 
the  external  universe :  the  world  within  and  the  world 
without  are  one.  This  higher  Wisdom,  as  we  follow  it 
through  successive  books,  is  seen  to  pass  through  three 
well-marked  stages.  In  the  first  stage  (represented 
by  Proverbs  and  Ecdesiasticus)  all  is  philosophic  calm ; 
the  harmony  of  life  and  the  universe  is  celebrated  in 
hymns  of  adoration,  all  analysis  and  questioning  being 
confined  to  what  may  be  called  the  lower  wisdom  —  the 
mere  details  of  life.  With  the  book  of  Ecclesiastes  a 
crisis  is  reached,  and  scriptural  philosophy  passes  through 
a  stage  of  storm  and  stress.  For  now  analysis  and  ques- 
tioning have  been  turned  upon  the  sum  of  things  :  phi- 
losophy seems  unequal  to  the  strain,  and  breaks  down 
in  despair.  The  word  "  Wisdom,"  in  the  high  sense, 
disappears,  and  the  characteristic  word  "  Vanity " 
takes  its  place;  every  attempt  to  find  a  meaning  in 
the  universe  is  frustrated,  and  ''all  things  are  vanity." 

[84] 


THE  HOLY  BIBLE 

In  the  philosophical  sense  of  the  word,  this  is  scepticism. 
Yet  it  is  strangely  different  from  what  that  word  usually 
suggests  :  the  more  our  author  fails  to  find  Wisdom,  the 
closer  he  is  driven  to  God,  who  alone  has  the  secret 
of  the  universe.  When  the  Bible  touches  scepticism, 
scepticism  becomes  a  mode  of  devotion. 

But  why  this  scepticism,  so  different  from  the  spirit 
of  the  rest  of  scripture  ?  On  the  surface  it  is  easy  to 
point  out  that  this  idea  of  scepticism  is,  in  Ecclesiastes, 
always  associated  with  another  idea  —  that  death  is 
the  end  of  all  things;  it  is  because  every  attempted 
solution  of  life  is  mocked  by  the  thought  of  death  that 
the  Preacher  breaks  down  in  despair.  But  this  has 
only  shifted  the  difficulty  one  stage  farther  back :  how 
comes  it  that  in  this  one  book  the  thought  of  what  may 
be  beyond  the  grave,  ignored  perhaps  in  other  Old 
Testament  books,  is  now  made  the  subject  of  almost 
passionate  denial? 

One  difference  of  wisdom  literature  from  the  rest  of 
scripture  is  that  it  lacks  the  historic  framework  which, 
we  have  seen,  connects  together  the  books  of  both  the 
Old  and  the  New  Testament.  We  have  to  supply  the 
historic  framework  ourselves.  In  the  interval  between 
the  Old '  and  the  New  Testament  the  world  that  was 
around  the  Hebrew  people  was  undergoing  fundamental 
changes.  The  centre  of  gravity  of  civilization  was 
shifting  steadily  westward ;  as  Chaldea  and  the  far 
East  had  had  to  yield  overlordship  to  Persia,  so  Persia 
had  to  yield  it  to  Greece,  and  Greece  finally  to  Rome. 
Further,  to  this  general  period  belongs  the  beginning  of 
that  which  in  this  work  I  am  treating  as  the  foundation 

[85] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

of  our  modern  life,  the  union  of  Hellenic  and  Hebraic 
civilization.  The  conquests  of  Alexander  thrust  Hel- 
lenism upon  the  whole  civilized  world ;  even  Pales- 
tine, after  long  and  strenuous  resistance,  becomes 
slowly  Hellenized,  while  in  Alexandria  we  have  a  new 
centre  of  Jewish  life,  in  which  the  Hebrew  mind  is 
subject  to  the  full  power  of  the  new  influences.  This 
secular  history  has  the  closest  connection  with  the 
sacred  literature  we  are  considering  ;  for  it  has  a  bear- 
ing upon  what  is  amongst  the  foremost  of  religious  con- 
ceptions, the  question  of  the  immortality  of  the  soul. 
Every  reader  must  have  been  struck  with  the  contra- 
dictory assertions  so  often  heard  as  to  the  Old  Testa- 
ment and  the  doctrine  of  immortality  :  how  one  author- 
ity will  maintain  that  there  is  no  trace  in  the  Old 
Testament  of  this  idea  of  immortality,  while  another  finds 
in  its  books  ready  texts  for  sermons  on  our  future  life. 
Such  contradiction  would  be  impossible  were  there  not 
some  ambiguity  in  the  terms  of  the  discussion.  And 
this  is  the  case.  When  we,  in  modern  times,  use  the 
expression  ''life  after  death,"  we  have  in  mind  a  new 
type  of  life,  commencing  at  the  moment  of  death. 
The  life  beyond  death  recognized  by  antiquity  was,  on 
the  contrary,  a  survival  of  this  present  life  in  a  weaker 
form.  Obviously  to  the  senses  death  cuts  off  an  indi- 
vidual from  communication  with  this  world ;  but  his 
body  does  not  immediately  disappear,  time  is  required 
for  it  to  crumble  into  dust  and  nothingness.  What 
the  senses  tell  us  of  the  body,  antiquity  believed  to  be 
true  also  of  the  soul :  consciousness  with  the  moment 
of  death  lost  all  power  of  communication   with  the 

[86] 


THE  HOLY  BIBLE 

world  without,  yet  lingered  for  a  time  conscious  to 
itself,  slowly  dying  down,  like  a  mist  dispersing  into 
nothing.  This  waning  survival  of  life  beyond  the 
moment  of  death  was  an  idea  of  all  the  nations  of 
antiquity.  The  Hebrews  held  it  equally  with  the  rest ; 
and  some  of  the  most  realistic  descriptions  of  the  state 
come  from  the  Book  of  J  oh,  especially  the  image  of  the 
landslip :  that  falls  in  a  moment,  yet  takes  time  to 
crumble  away,  like  man  cut  off  by  death,  knowing 
nought  of  his  children's  honor  or  shame,  yet  knowing 
the  pangs  of  dissolution  amid  the  mournful  sohtude  of 
the  grave. ^  And  ancient  life  did  more  than  merely 
recognize  this  diminishing  existence  in  the  tomb :  it 
read  into  it  —  usually  in  a  vague,  unsystematic  way  — 
ideas  of  the  moral  retribution  so  often  found  lacking  in 
the  life  that  now  is.  Hence  Tartarus  and  Elysium; 
hence  the  Sheol  into  which  shall  return  the  nations  that 
forget  God ;  hence,  above  all,  the  curious  Oriental  con- 
ception of  metempsychosis,  the  re-birth  of  individuals 
in  the  higher  and  lower  forms  of  animal  and  vegetable 
life,  each  form,  with  nice  equity,  proportioned  in  its 
honor  or  degradation  to  the  moral  character  of  pre- 
vious lives. 

When  this  ambiguity  in  the  conception  of  life  beyond 
death  is  cleared  away,  then  the  question  before  us 
becomes  simple.  Of  the  two  elements  that  combined 
to  make  the  modern  world,  Hellenic  civilization  stood 
for  the  idea  of  Inmiortality ;  not  only  did  it,  like  the 
rest  of  antiquity,  recognize  the  shadowy  survival  of 
existence,  but  it  held  that  life  was  in  its  very  essence 

1  Job  xiv.  18-23. 
[87] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

indestructible.  Yet  this  was  an  immortality  that  the 
modern  mind  would  not  accept  as  a  gift;  for  it  was 
immortality  without  individuality.  What  of  per- 
sonality there  was  beyond  death  belonged,  in  the 
Oriental  conception  of  things,  to  the  retributive  sur- 
vival of  life;  when  the  individual  was  purged  of  his 
evil,  he  then  reached  the  fulness  of  immortality  by 
absorption  into  the  infinite,  the  individual  drop  lost 
in  the  ocean.  Now,  of  immortality  in  this  sense  there 
is  no  trace  in  the  Old  Testament.  What  Hebrew 
thought  stands  for,  on  the  contrary,  is  Personality : 
it  gives  to  this  idea  the  highest  exaltation  by  recogniz- 
ing, from  first  to  last,  God  Himself  as  a  personal  God. 
It  is  nothing  to  the  point  to  urge  that  Greek  and 
Oriental  thought  has  also  its  personal  deities.  This  is 
true ;  but  in  Oriental  thought  Deity  is  not  the  supreme 
power  in  the  universe.  Greek  deities  are  but  larger 
humanities :    above  Deity  stands  Destiny. 

Not  even  Zeus  can  escape  the  thing  decreed. 

Fate,  Destiny,  is  to  the  Oriental  mind  the  supreme 
power,  and  Fate  and  Destiny  are  impersonal.  Of 
such  impersonal  Fate  or  Destiny  there  is  not  a  sug- 
gestion in  Hebrew  Scriptures ;  Divine  Personality  rules 
supreme.  The  account  then  stands  thus :  Hellenic 
thought  conceives  Inunortality  without  Individuality; 
Hebrew  thought  emphasizes  Personality  while  ignoring 
Immortality;  by  the  intermingling  of  Hellenic  and 
Hebraic  the  way  is  prepared  for  the  grand  conception 
of  the  Immortality  of  the  Individual  Soul. 

When  we  read  wisdom  literature  in  the  light  of  this 


THE  HOLY  BIBLE 

historic  background,  the  crisis  of  its  movement  in  the 
book  of  Ecclesiastes  becomes  intelUgible.  The  book 
belongs  to  the  Uterature  of  Palestine,  but  a  Palestine 
becoming  permeated  by  Hellenic  influences.  The 
Hebrew  thinker  finds  around  him  new  ideas  of  im- 
mortality which  his  natural  proclivities  do  not  allow 
him  to  accept.  Yet,  to  the  mind  to  which  this  idea  has 
once  been  presented,  the  world  without  it  seems  a 
hollow  mockery :  hence  the  Preacher's  despair.  But 
from  the  other  centre  of  Hebraic  thought,  Alexandria, 
comes  another  book,  the  Wisdom  of  Solomon,  with 
which  scriptural  philosophy  reaches  its  third  and  final 
stage.  In  this  work  the  union  of  the  ideas  of  immor- 
tality and  individuality  is  found  fully  established. 
God,  it  declares,  made  not  death :  righteousness  is 
immortal.  With  the  peculiar  power  of  analytic  imagi- 
nation that  makes  this  author's  writing  hang  half-way 
between  poetry  and  prose,  he  pictures  the  sinful  life 
as  a  life  impelled  to  sin  by  lack  of  hope  beyond  the 
grave.  Then  the  sinners  are  pictured  as  rising  from 
the  grave  to  encounter  the  great  surprise ;  they  realize 
how  the  souls  of  the  departed  righteous  have  been  all 
the  while  in  the  hand  of  God ;  how  their  own  life  of 
rapturous  pleasiu-e  was  an  empty  dream;  then  they 
are  whirled  away  by  the  blast  of  judgment.  Thus 
wisdom  literature,  in  its  final  stage,  recovers  its  philo- 
sophic calm;  the  calm  becomes  a  triumph.  The  life 
enlarged  by  immortality  no  longer  seems  vanity.  Wis- 
dom reappears  as  the  Providence  ruling  through  the 
life  without  and  the  life  within :  the  unspotted  mirror 
of  the  working  of  God  and  the  image  of  His  goodness. 

[89] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

If  the  whole  of  Scripture  be  conceived  as  a  mighty 
drama,  then  wisdom  hteratm-e  appears  an  interlude 
between  its  two  acts.  Yet  this  wisdom  literature,  with 
its  stages  of  calm,  storm,  and  recovered  calm,  is  a  lesser 
drama  in  itself.  And  the  interlude  is  also  a  link  of  con- 
nection :  the  human  life  that  passes  from  the  theology 
of  the  Old  to  the  theology  of  the  New  Covenant  is  a 
life  into  which  the  light  of  immortality  has  begun  to 
enter. 

The  books  of  the  New  Testament,  read  in  their 
proper  sequence,  show  a  literary  structure,  the  counter- 
part of  that  in  the  Old  Testament :  an  historic  frame- 
work inclosing  other  literary  forms  which  give  the  spirit 
of  the  whole.  First,  we  have  the  Acts  and  Words  of 
Jesus,  the  acts  the  historic  framework  for  the  words : 
this  is  the  Gospel  of  St.  Luke.  Then  we  have  the  Acts 
and  Words  of  the  Apostles :  the  book  of  Acts  and 
the  Pauline  epistles,  which  can,  without  difficulty,  be 
fitted  into  their  places  in  the  historic  narrative.  When 
St.  Paul  arrives  a  prisoner  at  Rome,  the  formal  his- 
toric narrative  ceases ;  we  can  mentally  supply  the 
framework  for  the  rest  of  the  New  Testament  in  the 
expectant  attitude  of  the  Church,  looking  for  the  near 
event  that  shall  end  their  era  with  the  coming  of  the 
Master.  Against  such  historic  background  we  set 
the  Epistles  of  Paul's  Imprisonment,  the  General 
Epistles,  the  Gospels  of  St.  Matthew,  St.  Mark,  and  St. 
John.  Finally,  as  the  Old  Testament  has  its  epilogue 
in  the  Isaiahan  Rhapsody,  so  the  New  Testament  is 
crowned  by  the  book  of  Revelation,  the  prophetic  climax 

[90] 


THE  HOLY  BIBLE 

of  the  whole  Bible.  The  dramatic  movement  that  is 
to  be  traced  through  this  succession  of  books  is  the 
steadily  advancing  enlargement  in  the  recognition  and 
conception  of  Jesus  Christ.  Of  course,  in  following 
this  there  is  the  difficulty  that  belongs  to  every  work  of 
antiquity  read  in  modern  times,  the  difficulty  that  the 
reader  knows  the  end  from  the  beginning.  He  must 
cultivate  the  historic  attitude  of  mind,  and  use  effort  in 
the  realization  that  he  is  in  contact  with  the  first  begin- 
nings of  ideas  and  institutions  which  are  familiar  to 
him  in  their  full   development. 

Most  dramatic  is  the  opening  of  the  ministry  of 
Jesus  as  related  by  St.  Luke.  Jesus  comes  to  the 
Nazareth  where  he  had  been  brought  up :  known  in 
person,  known  also  as  associated  with  the  religious 
revival  under  John  the  Baptist.  The  courtesies  of  the 
synagogue  are  extended  to  him,  and  he  is  invited  to 
read  from  the  Scriptures  and  expound.  ''The  eyes  of 
all  in  the  synagogue  were  fastened  on  him:"  and  we 
feel  as  if  the  eyes  of  all  history  were  fastened  on 
this  first  act  in  the  ministry  that  is  to  revolutionize 
the  world.  The  portion  of  Scripture  Jesus  reads  is  the 
critical  point  of  the  Isaiahan  Rhapsody,  at  which  the 
Redeemer  enters  Zion  and  announces  his  mission  of 
healing ;  Jesus  then  assumes  the  authoritative  attitude 
of  the  teacher  with  the  words,  "To-day  hath  this 
scripture  been  fulfilled  in  your  ears."  With  the  fullest 
clearness  and  emphasis  Jesus  has  identified  himself 
with  the  prophetic  Redeemer ;  the  spiritual  movement 
of  the  Old  Covenant  that  has  broken  down  is  to  start 
afresh  with  this  inauguration  of  a  Covenant  that  is  New. 

I9lj 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

But  not  a  soul  of  those  who  hear  understands :  the 
congregation  of  the  synagogue  feels  nothing  but  indig- 
nation at  the  presumption  of  this  carpenter's  son. 
From  this  point  of  absolute  negation  starts  the  move- 
ment of  progression  in  men's  recognition  of  Jesus 
Christ. 

The  rest  of  St.  Luke's  gospel  falls  into  two  clear  divi- 
sions, centering  respectively  around  Galilee  and  Jeru- 
salem. In  the  first  half,  Jesus  appears  as  no  more  than 
a  Teacher  slowly  gathering  disciples,  revealing  new 
conceptions  of  life,  and  doing  works  of  healing.  When 
John  the  Baptist  impatiently  calls  upon  him  to  declare 
himself,  Jesus  has  no  answer  but  to  point  to  the  ministry 
of  healing,  as  the  revelation  of  what  he  is.  The  turn- 
ing-point is  reached  when  the  band  of  disciples,  but 
only  they,  recognize  with  Peter  that  Jesus  is  the 
Christ.  All  the  synoptic  gospels  agree  in  representing 
that  here  for  the  first  time  Jesus  opens  the  second 
aspect  of  his  life  in  suffering  and  death ;  they  agree  in 
placing  at  this  point,  where  the  ministries  of  healing 
and  suffering  redemption  have  been  brought  together, 
the  vision  of  the  Transfiguration,  that  displays  the 
Gospel  as  a  new  dispensation  side  by  side  with  that  of 
the  Law  and  the  Prophets.  The  second  part  of  St. 
Luke  presents  the  steady  advance  to  Jerusalem,  to  the 
passion,  the  resurrection,  the  ascension.  The  reader 
must  recognize  the  different  spheres  of  theology  and 
of  literature :  that  on  which  theology  lays  supreme 
emphasis  stands  as  only  a  single  stage  in  the  movement 
we  are  here  tracing,  the  enlargement  in  men's  recog- 
nition of  Jesus  Christ. 

[92] 


THE  HOLY  BIBLE 

The  book  of  Acts  opens  with  the  commission  given 
to  his  apostles  by  Jesus  —  the  threefold  commission, 
that  they  are  to  be  witnesses  for  him  "in  Jerusalem, 
and  in  all  Judea  and  Samaria,  and  unto  the  uttermost 
part  of  the  earth."  A  simple  narrative  describes  the 
fulfilment  of  the  first  two  parts  of  this  commission. 
But  with  regard  to  the  third  part,  the  carrying  of  the 
witness  to  the  uttermost  part  of  the  earth,  it  is  manifest 
that  the  book  before  us  can  give  us  only  successive 
stages  in  the  conception  of  world  evangelization ;  steps 
in  the  enlargement  of  the  witness  that  is  to  be  borne, 
and  of  the  machinery  by  which  it  is  to  be  extended. 
The  treatment  of  all  this  in  Acts  is  the  clearer  as  each 
fresh  stage  is  marked  by  vision  and  miracle.  The  first 
revolution  is  the  opening  of  the  Gospel  to  the  Gentiles : 
St.  Peter's  vision  inspires  the  idea,  the  miraculous 
conversion  of  St.  Paul  brings  the  principal  instrument. 
With  the  enlarged  sphere  of  action  comes  enlargement 
in  the  machinery  of  propagation ;  in  Antioch,  centre  of 
Gentile  Christianity,  a  scene  takes  place,  echoing  in  its 
description  the  Day  of  Pentecost,  bringing  as  a  new 
inspiration  what  to  us  is  so  trite  and  familiar,  the 
thought  that  Christian  Missions  are  to  be  the  means  of 
world  evangelization.  A  new  point  of  departure  soon 
follows.  The  journeyings  of  these  missionaries  become 
embarrassed,  with  hindrances  on  every  side  to  which 
they  turn :  the  perplexity  is  resolved  by  the  vision  of 
the  man  of  Macedonia  crying,  Come  over  and  help  us. 
Here  we  have  the  extension  of  Christianity  from  Asia 
into  Europe ;  from  the  region  of  the  stationary  past  to 
that  of  the  future  with  its  spirit  of  unlimited  progress. 

[93] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

Then  we  see  again  the  machinery  of  evangehzation 
enlarging:  by  vision  Paul  is  led  to  adopt  a  settled 
ministry  in  the  large  cities  of  Europe,  and  can  keep  in 
touch  with  the  churches  only  by  correspondence;  the 
missionary  epistle  supplements  the  missionary  journey, 
and  in  the  succession  of  epistles  we  have  an  organ  for 
the  treatment  of  the  gradually  unfolding  questions  of 
theology  and  ecclesiastical  order.  Here  we  seem  to 
have  entered  upon  a  progression  which  is  indefinite  in 
extent,  going  on  to  our  own  times  and  beyond  them. 
Yet  for  the  age  of  the  New  Testament  there  is  a  point 
of  finality :  the  world  for  the  time  is  one,  under  the 
headship  of  Rome.  The  final  section  of  Acts  is  a  suc- 
cession of  strange  incidents,  intermingled  with  vision 
and  miracle,  bringing  the  apostle  of  the  Gentiles  to 
Rome.  And  the  literature  that  is  accompanying  this 
history  seems  to  reach  a  climax  in  the  Epistle  to  the 
Romans,  which,  to  a  world  audience,  presents  a  har- 
monization of  the  Law  and  the  Gospel,  the  Old 
Covenant  and  the  New. 

At  this  point,  we  have  seen,  the  narrative  of  the  New 
Testament  ceases;  our  historic  framework  has  to  be 
collected  from  the  literature  itself.  The  primitive 
Church,  of  which  the  New  Testament  is  the  literary  ex- 
pression, seems  to  be  marked  off  from  other  ages  by  a 
fixed  idea  which  permeates  it  through  and  through  :  the 
idea  that  its  times  were  the  last  times,  that  the  end  of  all 
things  was  at  hand,  that  the  great  consummation  it 
called  ''the coming  of  the  Lord"  was  an  event  near  at 
hand.  From  the  beginning  of  apostolic  history  this 
idea  is  found ;  but,  naturally,  the  expectancy  is  height- 

194  J 


THE  HOLY  BIBLE 

ened  as  the  consummation  is  delayed.  In  the  spirit 
of  this  intense  expectancy  we  may  read  what  still  re- 
mains of  New  Testament  literature. 

Without  going  into  questions  of  theology,  it  must  be 
evident  to  the  literary  reader  that  all  through  the  his- 
tory covered  by  the  book  of  Acts,  and  especially  in  the 
epistles  of  St.  Paul,  there  has  been  a  constant  enlarge- 
ment in  the  Church's  recognition  of  Jesus  Christ,  and  the 
conception  it  is  forming  of  his  person  and  significance. 
Under  the  quickened  expectancy  of  the  final  period,  this 
conception  enlarges  and  intensifies,  until  language  seems 
exhausted  in  the  attempt  to  give  it  expression.  The 
Epistle  to  the  Ephesians  finds  in  Jesus  the  '^  mystery  of 
God"  :  the  reference  is  to  the  Sacred  Mysteries  that 
were  the  popular  religion  of  the  times,  to  the  outside 
world  a  dramatic  ceremonial,  with  a  hidden  meaning  for 
the  initiated ;  the  thought  of  the  epistle  is  that  the 
whole  providential  government  of  the  universe  is  such  a 
mystery,  of  which  the  hidden  meaning  is  Jesus  Christ. 
The  Epistle  to  the  Colossians  borrows  from  the  Oriental 
religions  which,  overpowered  by  the  sense  of  the  interval 
between  human  and  divine,  sought  to  fill  up  this  interval 
by  a  graded  hierarchy  of  angelic  emanations  :  the  epistle 
seizes  upon  their  characteristic  word  pleroma,  and  recog- 
nizes Jesus  as  the  ''fulness"  that  fills  up  the  whole  gulf 
between  man  and  God.  In  an  earlier  stage  the  new 
evangel  had  had  to  fight  against  ''the  circumcision": 
the  Epistle  to  the  Philippians  finds  the  word  concision  for 
the  Judaizing  opposition ;  it  is  the  followers  of  Jesus 
who  are  the  true  "circumcision."  The  main  conflict  of 
the  Gospel  had  been  the  conflict  with  the  Law :    in  An 

[95] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

Epistle  to  Hebrews  the  most  pronounced  of  Hebrews  con- 
tends to  his  fellow  Hebrews  that  the  whole  Law  was  but 
a  preparation  for  the  ''better  covenant"  of  which  Jesus 
is  the  mediator.  As  here  we  have  the  full  recognition  of 
Jesus  from  the  side  of  the  Law,  so  from  the  side  of 
Wisdom  philosophy  comes  the  same  recognition  in  the 
Gospel  of  St.  Matthew,  the  structure  and  matter  of  which 
make  it  the  application  of  wisdom  literature  to  the  life  of 
Christ.^  And  the  Gospel  of  St.  John  brings  the  same 
recognition  from  the  side  of  Greek  philosophy :  its 
mystic  conception  of  the  Word  is  borrowed,  and  it  is 
shown  how  in  Jesus  the  Word  was  made  flesh. 

All  then  is  ready  for  the  last  book  of  Scripture  which 
is  to  crown  the  whole,  epilogue  of  Old  and  New  Testa- 
ment alike.  The  consummation  which  closed  the  era 
of  the  New  Testament  Church  came  in  the  form  of  an 
outburst  of  prophecy,  by  which  the  varied  attempts  to 
find  adequate  expression  for  the  recognition  of  Jesus 
were  all  combined  in  one.  Most  unfortunately,  the 
popular  misunderstanding  of  the  word  "  prophecy," 
which,  aided  by  a  false  etymology,  understands  it  as  fore- 
telling, has  distorted  the  interpretation  of  this  book,  and 
diverted  it  into  the  unprofitable  channel  of  eschatologi- 
cal  speculations.  But  the  opening  words  of  the  book 
proclaim  it,  not  as  a  revelation  of  the  future,  but  as  "the 
revelation  of  Jesus  Christ."  Form  and  matter  combine 
to  make  this  revelation  emphatic.  The  form  is  a  series 
of  visions,  passing  like  dissolving  views  before  the  eye 

^  This  view  of  St.  Matthew  is  discussed  at  length  in  my  Short 
Introduction  to  the  Literature  of  the  Bible,  pages  194-209 ;  more 
briefly  in  the  Introduction  to  Matthew  in  the  Modern  Reader's  Bible. 

[96] 


THE  HOLY  BIBLE 

of  the  imagination.  The  visions  are  symbols  that  are 
echoes  of  the  symbohsm  of  the  Old  Testament.  As 
vision  follows  vision,  these  mystic  symbols  advance,  fill 
the  field  of  view,  and  retreat,  pointing  ever  to  a  climax 
that  is  to  come.  In  the  centre  of  the  whole,  when  the 
seventh  and  final  angel  has  sounded,  the  climax  is  at- 
tained :  mystery  changes  into  clearness  with  the  shout 
of  all  heaven  that  "The  kingdom  of  the  World  is  be- 
come the  kingdom  of  our  Lord  and  of  his  Christ,  and  He 
shall  reign  for  ever  and  ever."  This  is  the  crowning 
word  of  the  Bible.  The  dramatic  movement  that  began 
in  Genesis,  that  has  run  its  course  through  the  Old  Cov- 
enant of  Israel  and  the  New  Covenant  of  Jesus  Christ, 
reaches  its  consummation  when  Jesus  Christ  is  recog- 
nized as  the  centre  of  all  history,  past,  present,  and  to 
come,  and  the  significance  of  all  prophetic  literature. 

The  discussion  in  this  chapter  has  not  trenched  upon 
the  ground  of  theology;  still  less  has  it  meddled  with 
questions  of  religious  controversy.  The  theologian  and 
the  controversialist  will  be  the  first  to  admit  that  the 
Holy  Bible,  whatever  else  it  may  be,  is  a  supremely 
great  literature.  What  this  chapter  has  endeavored  to 
present  is  the  natural  literary  significance  of  Scripture, 
which  must  be  the  common  ground  from  which  higher 
interpretations  will  start.  We  have  found  the  Bible  a 
succession  of  literary  works,  all  classics,  that  serve  to 
enlarge  our  ideas  of  literary  form.  The  distinction  of 
these,  from  the  point  of  view  of  world  literature,  is  the 
unique  interest  by  which  such  miscellaneous  works,  each 
with  a  literary  unity  of  its  own,  combine  to  enter  into  a 
higher  unity,  the  sublime  movement  of  thought  this 
H  [97] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

chapter  has  endeavored  to  trace.  And  the  matter  of 
which  this  hterature  is  composed  is  the  Hebraic  thought 
which  makes  one  of  the  two  roots  of  our  modern  civihza- 
tion.  Wliatever  position,  then,  individual  readers  may 
hold  as  to  the  spu'itual  questions  entering  into  the  sacred 
scriptures,  we  must  all  be  as  one  in  reverence  for  our 
great  literary  heritage.  He  who  is  content  to  leave  the 
Bible  unstudied  stands  convicted  as  a  half-educated 
man. 


[981 


CHAPTER  II 

THE   FIVE   LITEKARY   BIBLES 

Classical  Epic  and  Tragedy 

WE  pass  from  the  first  to  the  second  of  our  ancestral 
Uteratures,  from  the  Hebraic  to  the  Hellenic .  Here 
there  is  no  case  of  setting  up  literary  claims :  the  Hel- 
lenic has  dominated  our  whole  conception  of  literature. 
The  difficulty  is  rather  practical :  how  the  vastness  of 
Greek  and  Roman  literature,  which  for  so  many  of  us 
makes  a  whole  hfe  study,  can  be  brought  within  due 
bounds  as  a  single  element  in  world  literature.  Yet 
several  considerations  will  present  themselves.  The 
traditional  name  of  the  study  —  Classics  —  is  suggest- 
ive of  natural  selection.  Again,  we  have  recognized 
that  modern  philosophy  and  science  is  a  continuation  of 
Greek  thought :  thus  a  large  proportion  of  the  ancient 
literature  reaches  modern  culture  indirectly,  in  studies 
not  distinctively  literary.  A  very  important  section 
of  classical  studies  will  be  the  Greek  Orators,  important 
not  only  for  literary  excellence,  but  also  for  the  flood  of 
light  they  bring  upon  the  whole  constitution  and  minute 
details  of  ancient  life ;  these  however  belong  to  the  de- 
partmental study  of  Hellenics  rather  than  to  universal 
literature.     Single  phases  of  Hellenic  poetry,  such  as 

[99] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

its  IjTics,  enter  into  other  parts  of  the  present  work. 
To  what  remains  we  may  apply  the  idea  of  "literary 
bibles,"  that  involves  a  worthy  representation  of  a 
wider  field  which  shall  also  be  a  workable  unity.  Such 
a  literary  bible,  it  appears  to  me,  may  be  found  in  the 
combination  of  Classical  Epic  with  Tragedy :  not  the 
whole  of  Tragedy,  but  that  large  number  of  Greek 
tragedies  which  touch  the  matter  of  the  great  epics. 
What  this  gives  us  is  obviously  a  unity  in  itself ;  it  is 
further  just  that  part  of  classical  literature  which  has 
most  powerfully  influenced  the  poetic  thought  of  sub- 
sequent ages.  In  such  a  combination  we  recognize, 
not  a  selection,  but  a  nucleus. 

I  proceed  to  particularize  the  poetic  works  which  are 
thus  to  make  a  literary  bible  in  their  presentation  of 
Classical  Epic  and  Tragedy.  They  fall  into  two  un- 
equal divisions.  A  small  group  of  poems  presents  an 
Heroic  Myth  of  the  First  Generation :  the  Argonautic 
Expedition.  We  have  the  epic  of  Apollonius  Rhodius, 
entitled  Argonautica,  and  Euripides'  tragedy  of  Medea. 
With  these  it  may  be  well  to  take  William  Morris's 
Life  and  Death  of  Jason,  as  a  modern  reconstruction  of 
the  whole  myth.  The  other  division  of  our  poems  is 
made  up  of  those  founded  on  the  Trojan  War:  an 
Heroic  Myth  of  the  Second  Generation,  it  may  be  called, 
inasmuch  as  the  heroes  of  this  war  are  to  a  large  extent 
represented  as  sons  or  grandsons  of  the  Argonautic 
heroes.  The  matter  of  the  Trojan  War  falls  into  suc- 
cessive phases.  We  have  first  the  Gathering  of  the  He- 
roes for  Troy :  the  poetic  presentation  of  this  is  the 
Iphigenia  in  Aulis  of  Euripides.     In  the  war  itself  the 

[100] 


CLASSICAL  EPIC  AND  TRAGEDY 

main  episode  is  that  of  the  Quarrel  between  Agamemnon 
and  Achilles :  this  is  the  foundation  of  the  Iliad,  and 
of  the  Rhesus  of  Euripides.  Another  great  episode  ap- 
pears upon  the  Death  of  Achilles  and  the  Rivalry  of  his 
successors  in  leadership :  this  has  inspired  the  Ajax 
and  the  Philodetes  of  Sophocles.  The  Fall  of  Troy 
gives  us  the  Hecuba  and  the  Daughters  of  Troy  of  Eurip- 
ides. But  it  is  the  Departure  of  the  Heroes  from  Troy 
which  has  called  forth  the  largest  number  of  poetic 
presentations.  The  home  return  of  Agamemnon  is  con- 
nected with  iEschylus's  trilogy,  the  Agamemnon,  the 
Sepulchral  Rites  and  the  Eumenides;  with  the  Electra 
of  Sophocles ;  with  three  plays  of  Euripides,  the  Electra, 
the  Orestes,  and  the  Iphigenia  in  Taurica.  The  return 
of  Menelaus  appears  in  the  Helen  of  Euripides.  The 
return  of  Odysseus  is  of  course  the  foundation  of  the 
Odyssey.  The  return  of  Trojan  captives  is  touched  by 
the  Andromache  of  Euripides.  Finally,  the  departure 
from  Troy  of  iEneas  is  the  foundation  for  the  Mneid  of 
Virgil :  this  JEneid  closes  the  list,  and  constitutes  a 
grand  link  between  Latin  and  Greek,  and  again  between 
Latin  and  Mediaeval.  When  this  succession  of  poems 
is  taken,  not  in  the  chronological  order  of  their  composi- 
tion, nor  in  any  order  of  literary  development,  but 
simply  in  the  order  of  the  story,  they  will  be  clearly 
seen  to  give  the  unity  which,  in  combination  with  width 
of  range  and  intrinsic  literary  excellence,  is  the  note  of 
what  we  are  calling  literary  bibles.^ 

1  For  translations,  etc.,  see  the  Book  List  below,  pages  483-93. 


[101 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 


When  we  survey  this  succession  of  poems  as  a  Hterary 
whole,  the  first  point  to  be  noted  is  that  they  give  us  the 
poetic  thinking  of  successive  epochs  working  upon  a 
common  floating  tradition.  And  to  the  modern  mind 
this  is  one  of  the  main  difficulties  in  the  way  of  a  full 
appreciation  of  such  ancient  poetry :  the  difficulty  of 
bridging  over  the  gulf,  not  between  English  and  Greek, 
not  between  modern  and  ancient,  but  between  the  liter- 
ature of  books  and  the  literature  of  floating  tradition. 
We  and  our  fathers  before  us,  almost  as  far  back  as 
English  literature  goes,  have  been  accustomed  to  the 
literature  that  is  conveyed  to  us  in  books.  We  are  apt 
to  ignore  the  great  Oral  Literature,  which  was  not  read 
by  the  eye,  but  heard  with  the  ear,  and  which  constituted 
the  whole  of  poetry  before  the  time  when  writing, 
hitherto  used  for  record  only,  comes  to  be  applied  to  the 
conservation  of  literature.  It  is  a  mistake  to  suppose 
that  such  Oral  Poetry  has  only  an  archaeological  interest. 
Oral  and  Written  are  the  two  main  divisions  in  the  his- 
tory of  poetry :  in  one  respect  Oral  Poetry  is  the  more 
important  of  the  two,  for  it  is  in  this  that  the  founda- 
tions of  literary  form  are  slowly  laid  down. 

The  phenomena  of  Oral  and  Written  poetry  are  widely 
different ;  even  practised  scholars,  in  referring  to  com- 
positions of  great  antiquity,  are  apt  to  lapse  into  expres- 
sions that  have  a  connotation  of  modern  conditions. 
The  simple  scheme  of  epic  evolution  on  the  opposite 
page  may  bring  out  the  contrast  of  the  two.  Oral 
poetry  is  a  floating  literature  because,  apart  from  writing 

[102] 


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[103 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

that  gives  fixity,  each  deUvery  of  a  poem  becomes  a  fresh 
edition.  In  such  a  state  of  things  there  is  no  reading 
class :  the  minstrel  —  by  whatever  particular  name  he 
may  be  called  —  is  the  sole  source  of  poetry,  and  the 
minstrel  is  equally  accessible  to  all.  Our  modern  con- 
ditions recognize  authors,  and  protect  their  individual 
claims  as  a  kind  of  property ;  in  floating  literature  pro- 
duction belongs  to  the  minstrel  profession  collectively, 
and  each  reciter  uses  the  common  material  without  any 
sense  of  borrowing.  Our  first  instinct  is  for  originality, 
and  we  scout  plagiarism  as  a  literary  sin.  Oral  poetry 
is  founded  on  plagiarism ;  the  impulse  to  originality 
has  not  appeared,  and  the  conventional  echoing  of  com- 
mon topics  and  details  is  the  foremost  poetic  interest. 
In  such  floating  poetry  literary  evolution  has  free  and 
rapid  course.  First  we  have  the  unit  story  or  song. 
But  the  life  portrayed  is  comparatively  simple,  and 
stories  have  much  in  common  ;  in  the  floating  literature 
it  becomes  easy  for  parts  of  one  story  to  intermingle 
with  parts  of  another,  and  a  general  stage  of  story 
fusion  ensues.  From  time  to  time  particular  heroes  or 
incidents  start  into  prominence,  Achilles  becoming 
the  reigning  type  of  warrior,  or  Robin  Hood  the 
popular  outlaw ;  incidents  and  details  hitherto  at- 
tributed to  others  now  are  transferred  to  these. 
Thus  a  third  stage  is  reached  of  heroic  cycles,  ever 
growing  aggregations  of  miscellaneous  stories  cluster- 
ing around  individual  heroes  or  topics ;  such  an 
heroic  cycle,  it  will  be  understood,  is  not  a  poem, 
but  a  state  of  poetry.  In  course  of  time  such  an 
heroic     cycle    will    pass    over    the    boundary    line 

[104] 


CLASSICAL  EPIC  AND  TRAGEDY 

that  brings  us  to  written  literature  and  individual 
authorship :  the  cycle  has  now  the  chance  of  growing 
into  an  organic  epic,  its  miscellaneous  and  conflicting 
details  harmonized,  as  they  pass  through  the  mind  of 
some  architectonic  poet,  into  the  unity  we  recognize 
as  plot. 

The  application  of  principles  like  these  to  the  present 
case  brings  us  face  to  face  with  the  famous  "Homeric 
Question."  This  Homeric  Question  is  in  reality  a  set 
of  complex  and  intricate  problems  connected  with  the 
mode  in  which  our  Iliad  and  Odyssey  have  come  into 
existence :  what  are  the  sources  from  which  the  matter 
of  these  poems  has  been  derived,  what  the  processes  by 
which  their  constituent  elements  have  been  united ; 
how  much,  as  a  factor  in  such  processes,  is  to  be  attrib- 
uted to  individual  authorship,  how  much  to  race  mi- 
grations, how  much  to  public  recitations  and  influences 
such  as  Pan-Athenaic  festivals,  how  much  to  endeavors 
after  what  has  been  well  called  an  Authorized  Version ; 
how  much  again  of  modification  may  have  come  in  be- 
tween such  accepted  version  and  the  actual  text  of  the 
Iliad  and  Odyssey  which  has  come  down  to  us.  Prob- 
lems like  these,  it  is  obvious,  belong  to  specialized  Greek 
scholarship.  The  heat  and  perturbation  which  has  been 
imported  into  the  Homeric  Question  is  largely  due  to  the 
accident  that  it  was  this  question  which  first  brought 
into  prominence  the  distinction  between  the  static  and 
the  evolutionary  view  of  literature ;  between  the  mental 
attitude  which  unconsciously  carried  modern  conditions 
of  literary  production  into  circumstances  in  which  they 
could  have  no  place,  and  the  conception  of  comparative 

1105] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

literature  which  is  prepared  to  find  the  early  poetry  of  all 
peoples  passing  through  similar  stages.  It  might  well 
be  a  shock  to  the  general  reader  to  hear  for  the  first  time 
that  "Homer"  was  to  be  understood  as  the  name  not 
of  a  man  but  of  a  thing.  The  case  is  changed  when  it 
appears  that  the  Homeric  Question  does  not  stand  alone, 
but  is  typical  of  problems  that  arise  in  the  early  stages 
of  all  literatures ;  when,  further,  it  is  seen  that  the  same 
theory  which  questions  the  existence  of  the  traditional 
individual  called  Homer  nevertheless  lays  emphasis  on 
individual  authorship  as  a  leading  factor  in  the  processes 
by  which  the  Homeric  poems  have  been  produced.  In 
any  case,  as  has  been  already  said,  the  problem  belongs 
to  specialized  scholarship.  The  main  point  on  which 
the  student  of  pure  literature  should  fasten  his  attention 
is  the  consideration  that,  whatever  may  be  the  final  de- 
cision as  to  particular  Homeric  problems,  our  Iliad  and 
Odyssey  unquestionably  belong  to  that  golden  moment 
of  literary  history  in  which  the  stream  of  floating  tra- 
dition meets  the  influence  of  writing  and  fixity  of  form ; 
that  there  results  a  supremely  great  combination,  be- 
tween richness  of  material,  accumulated  through  succes- 
sive generations,  and  the  organic  harmony  of  plot  which, 
ultimately,  is  inseparable  from  individual  authorship. 

It  is  not  easy  for  a  modern  reader  to  put  back  the 
clock  of  time  and  adjust  his  mental  attitude  to  floating 
literature.  This  appears  to  involve  two  ideas  which  to 
the  modern  mind  seem  self-contradictory.  On  the  one 
hand,  we  must  conceive  of  this  epic  matter  as  real  his- 
tory :  to  the  Greeks  it  is  their  only  history  of  the  far 
past.     It  is  doubtful  if  our  modern  conception  of  ''fic- 

[106] 


CLASSICAL  EPIC  AND  TRAGEDY 

tion"  —  life  presented  in  stories  wholly  invented  from 
beginning  to  end  —  would  be  even  intelligible  to  an  an- 
cient Greek.  Thucydides  is  justly  esteemed  as  one  of 
the  world's  most  profound  and  subtle  historians  :  what 
is  the  attitude  of  this  Thucydides  to  the  Homeric  presen- 
tation of  the  Trojan  War  ?  He  brings  to  bear  upon  it  his 
rationalizing  analysis :  this  particular  element  he  con- 
siders as  exaggerated  and  tones  it  down;  that  detail 
he  questions ;  for  another  he  finds  an  alternative  expla- 
nation. But  the  rationalizing  mind  of  Thucydides 
never  conceives  —  what  would  be  the  first  thought  of  a 
modern  historian  —  the  question  whether  the  whole 
matter  of  Homer  from  first  to  last  has  any  verifiable 
basis  of  reality,  whether  there  is  any  conclusive  evidence 
that  Troy  itself  had  any  existence.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  material  of  this  accepted  history  must  be  understood 
as  infinitely  malleable,  capable  of  being  varied  at  will 
in  all  but  its  broadest  outlines.  In  this  we  have  what  is 
a  difficulty  to  the  modern  mind.  If  an  English  reader 
has  taken  his  conception  of  Henry  the  Eighth  from 
Shakespeare,  and  then  is  led  to  a  different  conception 
by  the  evidence  of  a  modern  historian,  he  must  surrender 
his  first  idea :  the  Henry  of  Shakespeare  and  the  Henry 
of  Froude  cannot  both  be  ''history."  But  to  the  Greek 
mind  they  could.  When  Stesichorus  or  Euripides  adds 
to  the  tradition  of  the  guilty  Helen  a  new  conception  of 
Helen  pure,  with  the  world  around  her  misled  by  a  mi- 
raculous simulacrum,  the  old  tradition  is  not  destroyed 
by  the  new  conception,  the  two  can  stand  side  by  side. 
This  union  of  historic  reality  and  malleability  of  mate- 
rial makes  a  splendid  medium  for  thought  to  work  in : 

[107] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

one  not  likely  to  recur  in  the  future.  We  must  criticise 
our  history,  or  offer  alternative  interpretations.  The 
ancient  Greeks  criticised  by  creating ;  they  could  re- 
cast reality  in  varied  creations  without  mutual  inter- 
ference. For  the  attainment  of  this  attitude  of  antiq- 
uity to  creative  poetry  the  reading  of  our  poems  in  the 
order  of  the  story  is  a  great  assistance  ;  from  this  point 
of  view  the  order  of  the  story  becomes  the  natural  order. 
We  must,  of  course,  discriminate  the  different  parts  of 
the  scheme  of  Epic  and  Tragedy  suggested  above ;  but 
for  the  moment  let  us  consider  the  whole  as  a  unity. 
Three  points  suggest  themselves.  1.  We  have  here  the 
crystallization  of  a  widely  extended  floating  poetry  in 
epics  and  tragedies  of  consummate  literary  excellence, 
the  epics  sweeping  over  wide  areas  of  incident,  while  the 
tragedies,  from  varied  points  of  view,  illuminate  single 
moments.  2.  Again,  we  have  in  these  poems  the  em- 
bodiment of  a  grand  prehistoric  civilization,  conveyed 
in  pictures  so  clear-cut  that  we  can  analyze  its  every 
part.  This  comes,  not  through  the  purpose  of  any  poet, 
but  by  the  very  nature  of  poetry  itself.  On  the  one 
hand,  poetry  does  not  reflect  history,  but  invents  it. 
On  the  other  hand,  poetry  does  not  invent  civilization, 
but  reflects  it.  The  floating  tradition  enriches  the 
result  by  extending  the  gathering  ground  for  materials. 
The  history  of  early  Greece  was  a  history  of  migrations ; 
as  peoples  migrated  from  one  quarter  of  Greece  to  an- 
other, their  floating  poetry  migrated  with  them ;  floating 
traditions  were  worked  over  by  other  floating  tradi- 
tions, to  an  infinite  complexity.  But  what  makes  per- 
plexity for  the  scientific  archaeologist  brings  enrichment 

[108] 


CLASSICAL  EPIC  AND  TRAGEDY 

to  the  object  of  literary  study :  what  we  have  before  us 
is  not  the  embodiment  of  a  single  specific  civilization, 
but  a  composite  photograph  of  many  prehistoric  civih- 
zations,  with  added  value  from  elimination  of  the  ac- 
cidental. 3.  One  more  remark  must  be  added.  Of  the 
poetry  entering  into  our  scheme  we  may  assert  that,  in  a 
greater  degree  than  any  other  part  of  the  world's  litera- 
ture, it  has  had  the  prerogative  voice  in  poetic  art. 
This  has  been  true  to  an  extent  which  makes  embar- 
rassment for  literary  criticism :  the  poetic  practice  of 
this  literature  was  by  early  criticism  exalted  into  bind- 
ing laws,  against  which  other  types  of  poetry  had  to 
struggle  for  very  existence.  The  authority  of  classical 
epic  and  tragedy  may  have  been  overthrown,  but  its 
primacy  in  poetic  art  there  is  no  one  to  dispute.  If  we 
are  to  study  poetry  at  all,  we  shall  surely  wish  to  study 
it  at  the  fountainhead. 

When  we  distinguish  the  separate  parts  of  our  scheme, 
what  the  whole  gives  us  is  the  thinking  of  successive  and 
widely  sundered  epochs  concentrated  upon  a  common 
floating  tradition.  It  is  a  mistake  to  suppose  that  when 
the  literature  of  books  begins  the  literature  of  oral 
tradition  comes  to  an  end :  the  two  continue  side  by 
side.  For  a  time  in  ancient  Greece  the  very  machin- 
ery of  oral  poetry,  the  rhapsodic  recitations,  continued ; 
while  Greek  tragedies  were  conveyed  to  the  people  from 
the  lips  of  the  actors,  not  from  the  books  of  the  poets. 
But  even  at  a  later  period,  when  oral  had  yielded  to 
written  literature,  none  the  less  floating  poetry  con- 
tinued in  the  impalpable  form  we  call  tradition :  a 
legendary  poetry,  far  vaster  in  amount  than  the  content 

1109] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

of  actual  poems,  enshrined  in  the  hearts  of  the  people, 
like  an  unwritten  Bible.  Homer  belongs  to  the  thresh- 
old of  Greek  history,  tragedy  to  its  culmination  in  the 
supremacy  of  Athens :  but  where  the  two  touch  the 
matter  of  the  Trojan  War,  what  we  find  is,  not  that  trag- 
edy has  borrowed  from  Homer,  but  that  Homer  and 
tragedy  have  borrowed  independently  from  the  float- 
ing literature.  Had  the  tragedian  Agathon  succeeded 
in  the  attempt  with  which  history  credits  him,  the  at- 
tempt to  dramatize  newly  invented  matter,  the  history 
of  world  literature  would  have  been  materially  different. 
Apollonius  belongs  to  the  late  age  of  Alexandrian  criti- 
cism ;  yet  for  his  epic  story  he  goes  back  to  the  old  cycle 
of  the  Argonautic  Expedition.  With  Virgil  we  have 
the  Rome  of  the  Caesars  and  an  entirely  changed  world  ; 
yet  it  seems  to  Vu'gil  natural  to  seek  material  for  his 
Roman  story  in  the  same  floating  poetry  which  served 
as  raw  material  for  Homer  and  tragedy.  As  a  planet, 
travelling  vastest  regions  of  space,  can  never  escape 
from  the  influence  of  the  intangible  points  which  make 
the  foci  of  its  orbit,  so  the  whole  range  of  Classical  Epic 
and  Tragedy,  with  all  its  advance  in  thought  and  senti- 
ment, is  held  within  the  charmed  circle  of  traditional  sub- 
ject-matter. It  is  hardly  necessary  to  add  that  this  is 
no  case  of  a  barren  literary  age  imitating  because  it  can- 
not invent.  The  cause  is  rather  in  the  wonderful  crea- 
tive outburst  of  early  Greece,  the  perfect  marriage  of  the 
highest  invention  and  skill  to  a  wealth  of  traditional 
material,  the  interest  of  which  centuries  of  subsequent 
history  could  not  exhaust.  And  it  is  precisely  this  fea- 
ture which  is  the  distinguishing  feature  of  the  poetry  we 

[110] 


CLASSICAL  EPIC  AND  TRAGEDY 

are  surveying  among  the  great  divisions  of  universal 
literature.  Classical  poetry  is  made  classical  by  this 
attitude  to  the  past :  poetic  invention  and  constructive 
skill  concentrated  upon  echoing  the  matter  accumulated 
by  the  poetry  of  the  past,  reading  new  thought  and  sen- 
timent into  accepted  subject-matter,  just  as,  in  a  differ- 
ent literary  medium,  the  modern  lyric  poet  delights  to 
compel  his  varied  and  highly  individualized  sentiment 
into  the  straitened  form  of  the  sonnet.  And  this  clas- 
sical impulse  was  to  dominate  poetry  until,  at  the  close 
of  the  Middle  Ages,  its  converse  should  arise  in  the 
romantic  impulse  toward  free  invention  and  search  for 
novelty,  and  the  antithesis  of  classical  and  romantic 
should  become  a  force  in  the  whole  future  of  poetry. 

II 

Limits  of  space  oblige  me  to  pass  rapidly  over  the  first 
section  of  our  scheme.  The  cycle  of  the  Argonautic 
Expedition  stands  first  in  the  order  of  story,  since  its 
heroes  appear  to  a  large  extent  as  fathers  or  ancestors 
of  those  who  are  to  figure  in  the  Trojan  War.  It  is  no 
departure  from  the  general  spirit  of  the  whole  scheme 
that  I  have  suggested  the  combination  with  the  Argo- 
nautica  and  the  Medea  of  the  modern  reconstruction  of 
the  story  in  William  Morris's  Life  and  Death  of  Jason. 
For  in  William  Morris,  surely,  we  have  our  English 
Homer :  supreme  creative  genius,  with  the  special  bias 
towards  crystallization  of  past  poetry  in  new  combina- 
tions. In  the  period  we  call  the  Dark  Ages  literature 
to  some  extent  relapsed  into  floating  poetry ;  William 

[111] 


THE   FIVE   LITERARY   BIBLES 

Morris  seized  upon  some  of  its  most  precious  stories  and 
worked  them  into  the  scheme  of  his  Earthly  Paradise. 
A  great  cycle  of  Norse  poetry,  in  intrinsic  power  the  only 
peer  of  Greek  epic,  waited  for  its  Homer  until  it  found 
him  in  the  author  of  Sigurd  the  Volsung.  And  in  the 
present  case  we  see  Morris  at  work  in  the  field  of  classi- 
cal poetry.  The  traditional  treatment  of  epic  has  rested 
too  much  upon  poetic  ornament,  or  single  episodes,  or 
heroic  figures :  we  are  apt  to  forget  that  the  supreme 
element  in  epic  poetry  must,  from  the  nature  of  the  case, 
consist  in  the  shaping  of  the  story  itself.  And  this  is 
also  among  forms  of  epic  beauty  the  most  elusive.  It 
becomes  then  a  most  valuable  exercise  in  poetic  art  to 
watch,  point  by  point  and  from  beginning  to  end,  a  great 
master  like  William  Morris  working  over  the  material  he 
has  received  from  the  past  and  re-shaping  it  into  an 
original  creation.  In  the  case  before  us  there  is  the  special 
interest  of  seeing  Greek  life  change  its  whole  atmosphere 
for  the  haze  of  romance,  with  touches  of  the  modern 
brooding  on  human  life.  Again,  one  who  essays  to  com- 
bine the  matter  of  Apollonius's  poem  with  that  of  Eu- 
ripides' tragedy  is  confronted  with  the  infinitely  difficult 
problem  of  reconciling  the  Jason  of  the  Argonautic  Ex- 
pedition with  the  Jason  of  the  Medea;  new  material  is 
imported  into  Morris's  poem,  and  changes  of  emphasis  are 
traceable  in  all  parts,  largely  for  the  purpose  of  soften- 
ing down  this  discrepancy.  Incidentally,  such  com- 
parative study  will  bring  home  to  the  student  how  clas- 
sical echoing  is  widely  different  from  borrowing  or  mere 
imitation.  To  approach  traditional  incidents  just  near 
enough  to  awaken  literary  associations,  and  then  to  glide 

[112] 


CLASSICAL  EPIC  AND  TRAGEDY 

away  with  unexpected  turns  of  thought  or  novel  recon- 
structions, this  requires  the  nicest  dehcacy  of  touch  and 
mastery  of  poetic  art.  It  is  this  more  than  anything  else 
which  has  given  to  classical  poetry  its  charm  and  tech- 
nical finish,  making  it  the  reconciliation,  in  some  de- 
gree, of  the  primitive  poetic  interest  of  convention  with 
the  modem  impulse  to  novelty. 

Ill 

We  come  to  the  Iliad.  The  foundation  step  in  our 
appreciation  of  a  poem  is  to  grasp  it  in  its  unity.  In 
the  case  of  elaborate  poems  this  unity  finds  technical 
expression  in  Plot  and  Movement;  Plot,  the  unity  of 
a  poem  considered  as  a  scheme  of  connected  parts ; 
Movement,  the  realization  of  the  unity  in  progression 
from  beginning  to  end  of  the  poem.  Wlien  we  apply 
such  analysis  to  the  case  before  us,  we  find  just  what 
we  should  expect  to  find  from  the  position  of  the  Iliad 
in  literary  evolution ;  its  plot  and  movement  can  be 
formulated,  but  we  feel  at  once  that  such  formulation 
conveys  less  of  the  spirit  of  the  whole  than  would  be  the 
case  with  later  poems.  The  Iliad  is  only  just  within 
the  field  of  the  organic  epic :  the  traditional  interest  of 
the  exuberant  subject-matter  is  ever  asserting  itself, 
and  tending  to  overpower  our  sense  of  the  unity  bond. 

Plot  of  the  Iliad 

Main  Story :  Quarrel  of  Agamemnon  and  Achilles :  developed  at 

length :  within  the 
Enveloping  Action:  The  Graeco-Trojan  War :  involving  numerous 
Secondary  Stories 

I  [113] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

Secondary  stories  are  narratives  within  the  main 
narration ;  these  in  the  case  of  the  Iliad  make,  in  the 
aggregate,  a  considerable  proportion  of  the  whole.  We 
have  pedigree  stories  :  almost  every  prominent  warrior, 
as  he  is  first  introduced,  must  have  his  pedigree  — 
sometimes  a  lengthy  pedigree  —  related ;  we  have 
pedigrees  for  the  sceptre  of  Agamemnon,  for  the 
horses  of  Tros,  for  a  helmet,  for  a  bow.  Again,  two 
personages  of  the  poem  are  old  men,  Nestor  and 
Phcenix :  the  garrulity  of  age  loves  to  tell  feats  of  the 
far  past,  and  in  the  interminable  speeches  of  these 
heroes  the  curious  analyst  may  find  the  involution  of 
story  within  story  to  the  fourth  degree.  As  the  evolu- 
tion of  the  epic  is  the  gradual  amalgamation  of  miscel- 
laneous incidents  within  a  harmonizing  unity,  these 
secondary  stories  have  the  right  to  a  place  in  our 
formulation  of  the  plot.  Apart  from  these,  the  main 
story  of  the  quarrel  between  Agamemnon  and  Achilles 
presents  itself  as  a  momentary  episode  in  the  larger  and 
not  less  interesting  action  of  the  Trojan  War, 

When  we  turn  our  attention  to  the  progression  of 
incidents  through  the  poem,  the  conflicting  claims 
of  the  main  story  and  the  enveloping  action  are  such 
that  we  must  make  two  statements  of  the  movement 
of  the  Iliad,  according  as  we  give  prominence  to  the 
one  or  the  other.  If  we  lay  the  stress  upon  the  main 
story,  then  the  movement  of  the  poem  gives  us  the  art 
effect  of  Introversion,  the  second  phase  of  the  move- 
ment reversing  the  order  of  the  first. 


[114] 


CLASSICAL  EPIC  AND  TRAGEDY 

Movement  op  the  Iliad:  Introversion 

A.  Origin  :  The  Quarrel 

B.  First  Day's  War :    The    Rampart :   Agamemnon's   Repent- 
ance 
C.  Second    Day's    War:     The    Bivouac:     Agamemnon's 
Apology  Rejected 


Interlude  of  Adventure :  Nocturnal  Spying 


CC.  Third  Day's  War :  Rampart  stormed  but  Patroclus  lost 
BB.  Return  of  Achilles :  Patroclus  avenged  and  Hector  slain 
AA.  General  Pacification :  Burial  of  Patroclus  and  Hector 


The  starting-point  of  the  action  is,  not  the  sin  of  one 
man,  but  the  quarrel  of  two :  the  power  of  authority 
and  the  power  of  personal  might  have  come  into  col- 
lision, and  both  Agamemnon  and  Achilles  indulge  a 
wrath  that  will  bring  consequences.  At  first,  the 
action  turns  wholly  against  Agamemnon.  At  the  end 
of  the  first  day's  war  the  building  of  the  rampart  is  an 
outward  symbol  that  the  Greeks  have  been  driven  to 
the  defensive;  Agamemnon  bitterly  repents  the  out- 
burst of  insult  which  has  lost  him  the  might  of  Achilles. 
At  the  end  of  the  second  day,  the  humiliation  of  the 
Greeks  has  reached  the  point  that  their  enemies  bivouac 
in  the  open  air  to  prevent  nocturnal  flight ;  Agamemnon 
descends  to  the  very  depths  of  apology,  only  to  find  his 
apology  rejected  by  Achilles.  But  now  the  action 
begins  to  reverse  itself  and  turn  against  Achilles.  The 
storming  of  the  rampart  on  the  third  day  brings 
Patroclus   into   the  field :    with  the  loss  of  Patroclus 

[115] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

Achilles  is  wounded  in  his  tenderest  part.  The  next 
section  of  the  poem  gives  us  Achilles  making  com- 
plete surrender,  and  returning  to  the  war :  only 
at  this  price  can  Patroclus  be  avenged  and  the  tri- 
umphant Hector  slain.  The  final  section  balances  the 
original  quarrel  with  a  general  pacification,  and  the 
burial  of  Patroclus  and  Hector.  In  the  centre  of 
the  action,  the  night  between  the  second  and  third  day 
brings  an  episode  of  relief:  nocturnal  incidents,  with 
the  spying  expedition  of  the  Trojans  outmanoeuvred 
by  the  spying  expedition  of  the  Greeks,  make  an  inter- 
lude of  adventure  in  a  poem  of  war. 

Thus  the  main  theme,  as  announced  in  the  opening 
lines  of  the  poem,  has  been  regularly  developed  and 
brought  to  a  conclusion.  But  if  we  let  ourselves  follow 
the  narration  just  as  it  stands,  we  feel  that  it  is  rather 
the  enveloping  action  of  the  Trojan  War  that  presses 
itself  upon  our  attention;  and  a  new  statement  be- 
comes necessary  to  do  justice  to  the  poetic  motives 
which  are  actually  felt  to  underlie  the  course  of  events. 

Motive  Structure  of  the  Iliad 


Zeus  as  supreme 
Destiny  —  balan- 
cing throughout 


Subordinate  Dei- 
ties—  limited  in- 
terference on  be- 
half of  favorites 


WAR 


Divine   Carica- 
ture of  Life 


Home  scenes  and 
Hospitality 


Underlying  interests  of  Epic  Civilization  and  External  Nature 


The  dominant  motive  of  the  whole  poem  is  the  over- 
powering interest  of  War.     It  is  a  great  thing  for  the 

[116] 


CLASSICAL  EPIC  AND  TRAGEDY 

world  that  the  stage  in  human  evolution  in  which  the 
warrior  impulse  is  the  highest  spiritual  stage  attainable 
by  man  should  have  idealized  itself  in  a  masterpiece  of 
poetry,  before  it  has  passed  away  to  become  ever  more 
impossible  and  unrealizable.  Whoever  would  study 
this  old-world  ideal,  must  study  it  in  the  Iliad.  At 
first,  and  indeed  all  through,  we  have  what  may  be 
called  normal  war:  chiefs  rousing  their  followers,  the 
clash  of  whole  armies,  personal  combats  innumerable, 
rushes  of  great  heroes  through  the  ranks  of  war  like 
destructive  rockets,  diversions  by  arrow  warfare  or 
stone  hurling ;  amid  these  are  interspersed  more  specific 
martial  incidents,  such  as  the  suspension  of  the  general 
battle  to  give  place  for  a  duel,  the  sudden  arrow  of 
treachery,  struggles  over  the  divine  horses  of  Tros  or 
Achilles,  appeals  for  mercy,  in  the  thick  of  combat 
recognition  of  guest  friends.  From  the  beginning  of 
the  third  day  the  movement  of  war  goes  through  a 
steady  crescendo.  We  now  have  concerted  movements, 
such  as  the  five-column  attack  upon  the  rampart,  and 
grouped  combats,  with  several  heroes  of  name  on  each 
side;  there  is  rampart  storming  and  defence;  the 
rally  of  the  Greeks  under  the  god  Poseidon  is  met  by 
the  counter  rally  of  the  Trojans  under  the  god  Apollo ; 
the  firing  of  the  galleys  brings  Patroclus  to  roll  back  the 
battle  to  the  walls  of  Troy.  Then  all  seems  to  merge 
in  contests  over  the  corpses  of  fallen  heroes,  especially 
the  long  strain,  filling  the  seventeenth  book,  of  both 
armies  over  the  corpse  of  Patroclus,  amid  mist  and 
darkness,  with  gods  taking  part  on  both  sides :  this 
brings  a  sudden  climax  in  the  terrible  shout  of  Achilles 

[117] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

from  the  trenches,  as  he  is  seen  in  a  glare  of  supernatural 
light.  All  the  resources  of  combat  would  seem  to  have 
been  exhausted ;  yet  a  finale  is  still  to  come  in  the 
addition  of  mystic  warfare,  with  gods  and  men  con- 
fusedly intermingled.  From  the  twentieth  book  the 
whole  action  is  supernaturally  moulded.  Gods  in  dis- 
guise hearten  heroes,  and  then  snatch  them  away  in 
mist.  We  have  the  splendid  episode  of  the  twenty- 
first  book :  Achilles  in  his  heaven-wrought  armor  help- 
less against  the  divine  River,  that  ''with  furious  under- 
sweep  overmasters  his  knees"  and  dashes  cataracts  on 
his  shield,  until  the  Fire  God  is  brought  to  quench  the 
might  of  the  River  God.  Then  follows  a  mystic  inter- 
lude :  for  a  time  gods  clashing  with  gods  fill  the  whole 
interval  between  earth  and  heaven.  And  thus,  when 
at  last  we  reach  the  point  up  to  which  the  whole  action 
of  the  poem  has  been  working,  the  final  meeting  of 
Achilles  and  Hector,  it  is  no  matching  of  hero  strength 
that  we  find,  but  a  tangled  incident  mystically  con- 
trolled in  every  detail.  Apollo  has  covered  the  retreat 
of  the  army  into  Troy,  while  the  feet  of  Hector  are 
"fettered  by  baleful  fate"  outside;  at  the  nearer  ap- 
proach of  the  terrible  Achilles  the  bravest  of  men  turns 
in  panic  flight ;  when  he  is  exhausted  Apollo  comes  to 
his  side ;  at  the  signal  from  heaven  Apollo  passes  from 
him,  and  Athene,  working  for  Achilles,  plays  her  cruel 
deception  —  the  apparition  of  the  supporting  brother 
that  brings  Hector  helpless  to  the  slaughter. 

This  dominant  motive  of  war  is  seen  to  be  inter- 
penetrated by  other  motives ;  or  at  times  it  gives  place 
to   other   interests   by   way   of   relief.     Of   the   other 

[118] 


CLASSICAL  EPIC  AND  TRAGEDY 

motives  the  most  prominent  is  what  the  modern 
world  would  call  Providence  :  the  control  of  Deity  over 
events.  Zeus  is  ''steward  of  war  and  peace  to  men" : 
in  the  Iliad  Destiny  is  almost  completely  identified 
with  the  will  of  Zeus,  and  its  visible  symbol  of  the 
Balance  which  makes  fate.  By  the  nature  of  the  story 
we  are  prepared  for  a  temporary  advantage  of  the 
Trojans,  which  is  the  providential  compensation  for 
the  slight  of  Achilles ;  but  we  are  hardly  prepared  for 
the  degree  to  which  Deity  will  sway  the  whole  course  of 
events.  In  the  war  of  the  first  day,  as  compared  with 
what  follows,  Zeus  seems  almost  quiescent ;  yet  even 
here  it  is  he  who  sends  Athene  to  violate  the  truce,  and 
bring  about  the  battle  in  which  the  Trojans  can  be 
seen  to  prevail.  On  the  second  day,  Zeus  in  high 
council  of  heaven  enforces  neutrality  on  the  other  gods : 
they  chafe  against  his  restraint,  yet  know  him  irre- 
sistible. Zeus  descends  to  Mount  Ida  to  keep  watch. 
Up  to  noon  he  leaves  the  battle  to  itself ;  then  he  dis- 
plays his  balance  against  the  Greeks,  and  follows  this 
with  the  thunder  that  turns  the  tide  of  victory ;  Hera 
and  Poseidon  are  impelled  to  interfere,  but  are  held 
back ;  at  the  prayer  of  Ajax  Zeus  gives  him  the  momen- 
tary encouragement  of  the  eagle  omen,  then  returns 
to  his  purpose  and  enkindles  the  Trojan  hosts  to  pour 
over  the  trench.  On  the  third  day,  Zeus  sends  the 
demon  of  Discord  to  enhance  the  battle  spirit  on  both 
sides ;  the  rest  of  the  gods  are  raging  at  their  helpless- 
ness, but  Zeus  recks  not.  Again  he  balances  with 
even  sway  for  a  time,  drawing  Hector  out  of  danger  as 
the  Greeks  are  prevailing,  sending  Iris  to  restrain  him 

[119] 


THE   FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

until  Agamemnon  shall  have  run  his  course  of  glory. 
The  wounding  of  this  Agamemnon  Zeus  has  made  the 
signal  for  the  turn  of  the  tide :  now  he  drives  even 
Ajax  into  panic-stricken  retreat,  and,  with  the  hurricane 
of  dust  against  the  gallej'^s,  carries  forward  the  rush  of 
victorious  Trojans  to  the  smashing  of  the  gate.  Zeus 
is  now  satisfied,  and  can  turn  his  eyes  to  other  parts 
of  the  world :  there  is  opportunity  for  other  disturbing 
forces  to  come  in.  When  Zeus  awakes  from  his  sleep 
he  sends  Apollo  to  undo  the  mischief  done  by  Poseidon, 
and  restores  the  course  of  Trojan  victory.  At  the 
prayer  of  Nestor  he  thunders  a  moment's  hope,  but 
only  to  save  the  life  of  Nestor  himself,  for  the  thunder 
is  interpreted  as  favorable  omen  for  the  Trojans.  As 
Achilles  watching  the  battle  utters  his  prayer  to  Zeus, 
Zeus  hears  half  of  it,  and  grants  Patroclus  to  hurl  the 
battle  from  the  galleys,  denies  the  other  half,  that 
Patroclus  might  come  back  safe.  From  this  point 
Zeus  is  seen  heartening  and  disheartening  men,  over- 
bearing all  human  counsels.  He  enkindles  the  fury 
of  Patroclus  to  press  the  battle  on  to  Troy,  where  he 
will  meet  his  death ;  he  sheds  a  sudden  mist  to  save  the 
corpse  of  Patroclus  from  the  dogs ;  repenting  a  moment 
for  the  Greeks  Zeus  sends  Athene  to  kindle  their  ardor 
in  struggling  over  their  hero's  corpse,  yet,  when  Hector 
comes  into  the  fray,  shakes  forth  his  segis  and  thunders 
a  triumph  for  Troy  which  all  can  recognize ;  yet  again, 
as  Ajax  in  distress  puts  forth  a  prayer,  Zeus  dissolves 
the  mist  and  grants  the  Greeks  the  rescue  of  Patroclus's 
corpse.  The  Trojan  success  vowed  to  Thetis  is  now 
fully  accomplished,  and  Zeus,  holding  council  of  gods 

[120] 


CLASSICAL  EPIC  AND  TRAGEDY 

and  nature  powers,  bids  theni  take  their  full  liberty : 
he  will  gaze  from  Olympus  and  gladden  his  heart 
with  the  truceless  strife.  With  this  presentation  of 
the  will  of  Zeus  as  fate  comes  the  paradox  that  Des- 
tiny is  seen  in  the  act  of  hesitation  and  making  com- 
promise. When  the  course  of  the  battle  threatens  his 
own  son  Sarpedon,  Zeus  quails  in  his  role  of  Destiny; 
Hera  reminds  him  of  that  other  fate  which  lies  in  the 
mortality  of  an  individual  man.  Destiny  must  compro- 
mise :  Zeus  leaves  Sarpedon  to  die,  but  will  rescue  the 
loved  corpse;  blood  drops  of  Zeus's  agony  fall  on  the 
earth  in  crimson  dew  as  Sarpedon  falls;  he  thrills 
Hector's  heart  with  faintness  to  draw  the  battle  away 
as  Sleep  and  Death  bear  away  the  corpse.  Again, 
Zeus  shakes  his  head  over  the  sight  of  Hector  putting 
on  the  armor  of  Achilles  torn  from  the  dead  Patroclus, 
and  we  have  another  compromise  of  fate  as  Zeus  grants 
great  might  to  Hector  in  requital  of  the  doom  that  he 
shall  not  return  from  the  battle  alive.  At  the  last 
moment  of  Hector's  doom  Zeus  hesitates  over  a  dear 
and  pious  worshipper;  again  the  thought  of  mortal 
weird  is  presented  to  him,  and  he  must  display  the  fatal 
balance  that  brings  the  end. 

Other  deities  also  come  in  as  a  disturbing  force  to 
the  natural  course  of  events.  These  in  no  way  repre- 
sent Destiny;  they  are  simply  superhuman  powers, 
like  the  demonic  forces  of  later  poetry,  who,  by  permis- 
sion of  Zeus  or  by  eluding  his  notice,  interfere  for 
friends  or  against  foes,  sometimes  directly,  more  often 
by  momentary  incarnations  in  some  human  likeness. 
Athene  turns  the  arrow  of  treachery  aside  from  Mene- 

[121] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

laus,  as  a  mother  brushes  a  fly  from  her  sleeping  child ; 
Aphrodite  snatches  away  the  wounded  Paris  in  a  mist, 
and  brings  him  home  to  Troy ;  Glaucus  wounded  cries 
to  Apollo,  and  Apollo  stanches  the  wound.  Apollo 
in  the  guise  of  a  friend  approaches  ^neas,  and  ^neas 
recognizes  the  god ;  Athene  comes  in  the  guise  of 
Phoenix  to  Menelaus,  and  has  the  delight  of  hearing 
Menelaus  name  herself  as  the  divinity  he  invokes. 
The  fifth  book  seems  given  up  to  such  interference  of 
deity.  It  is  Athene  who  inspires  Diomedes  to  his  rush 
of  glory ;  she  leads  her  fellow-deity,  the  dull  Ares,  out 
of  the  battle  on  the  plea  of  their  both  abstaining  from 
combat,  and  straightway  returns  herself  to  the  fight. 
She  gives  Diomedes  the  special  power  of  discerning  the 
forms  of  the  gods  in  the  crowd  of  fighters.  When 
Aphrodite,  rescuing  her  ^neas  in  a  fold  of  her  bright 
mantle,  is  herself  wounded  and  drops  her  burden, 
Apollo  snatches  ^neas  up  in  a  cloud,  and  creates  a 
wraith  in  his  likeness  to  draw  the  battle  away.  Later, 
Apollo  brings  Ares  back  into  the  fight;  Ares  in  the 
likeness  of  a  comrade  rouses  the  Trojans,  and  becomes 
visible  in  his  own  form  as  he  leads  on  their  charge. 
When  Hera  and  Athene  gain  Zeus's  permission  for  a 
moment's  interference,  Hera  with  the  voice  of  Stentor 
rouses  the  Greeks,  Athene  tumbles  the  charioteer  of 
Diomedes  out  of  the  chariot  and  takes  his  place  herself. 
When  the  attention  of  Zeus  is  wholly  transferred  to 
other  scenes,  Poseidon  has  his  chance  to  rally  the 
Greeks :  in  the  likeness  of  Kalchas  he  inspires  their 
sinking  spirits ;  in  the  likeness  of  another  he  brings  re- 
inforcements ;  in  the  likeness  of  an  aged  man  he  urges 

[122] 


CLASSICAL  EPIC  AND  TRAGEDY 

on  Agamemnon  and  Nestor.  In  the  counter  rally  of 
the  Trojans  Apollo  directly  comforts  Hector,  breathes 
might  into  him,  smooths  the  way  before  him,  leads 
the  charge  of  the  Trojans  with  cloud- veiled  shoulders, 
spurns  down  with  his  feet  full  lightly  the  banks  of  the 
foss :  while  he  holds  his  aegis  moveless  the  foe  fall  fast 
by  the  shafts,  when  he  shakes  it  their  souls  are  dazed. 
On  the  tower  of  Troy  Apollo  three  times  buffets  back 
the  advancing  Patroclus,  at  the  fourth  advance  reveals 
himself  and  shouts  a  terrible  warning ;  in  the  later 
crisis  he  smites  the  strength  out  of  Patroclus  and  leaves 
him  a  helpless  prey  to  Hector.  Taken  in  the  aggregate, 
these  irruptions  of  deities  into  the  course  of  human 
events  make  a  very  prominent  motive  in  the  action  of 
the  poem. 

Throughout  all  the  incidents  of  this  type  the  domi- 
nant motive  of  war  has  continued.  But  there  are 
points  at  which  this  gives  place  to  relief  scenes  and 
literary  interests  of  an  entirely  different  kind.  Wlien 
the  whole  Trojan  War  has  for  the  moment  become 
concentrated  in  the  duel  between  Paris  and  Menelaus, 
between  the  wronger  and  the  wronged,  the  invisible 
Aphrodite  has  but  to  snap  the  helmet  band  of  Paris, 
and  the  scene  changes,  as  if  by  magic,  to  the  bower  of 
Helen  and  passages  of  love.  The  formal  challenge  for 
this  duel  has  required  the  summoning  of  King  Priam 
to  pour  libations :  we  get  a  picture  of  Troy,  of  the 
tender  courtesy  of  the  old  king  to  the  captive  Helen, 
of  Helen  viewing  from  her  place  of  captivity  the  chief- 
tains of  her  old  country.  In  the  chances  of  battle 
Machaon  is  wounded  :   at  all  hazards  the  warrior  leech 

[123] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

must  be  rescued,  and  for  two  hundred  and  fifty  lines 
we  are  in  the  tent  of  Nestor,  with  its  stately  hospitality, 
varied  by  a  friendly  call  from  Patroclus,  and  the  old 
host's  stories  of  the  past.  WTien  the  Trojans  are  being 
hard  pressed,  Helenus  has  but  to  speak  a  word  of  advice 
and  we  pass  with  Hector  out  of  the  battle-field  to  the 
palace  of  Priam,  to  Athene's  stately  fane  on  its  castled 
crag,  to  the  dwelling  of  Paris  and  Helen  and  the  home 
of  Hector;  above  all,  to  the  exquisite  pathos  of  the 
meeting  by  the  gate  with  Andromache  and,  though 
they  know  it  not,  the  last  parting  of  warrior,  wife,  and 
babe,  with  forecast  of  the  widow's  doom.  We  have 
again  the  formal  embassy  of  the  Greek  chiefs  to  the 
tent  of  Achilles  bearing  the  royal  apology,  with  its 
interchange  of  passionate  oratory,  and  the  long-drawn 
appeal  of  Phoenix  for  the  spirit  of  restraint  and  rever- 
ence for  the  Prayers  that  are  the  daughters  of  Zeus. 
And  the  reverse  side  of  the  war  glory  is  pictured  for 
us  in  the  long  scenes  of  mourning :  the  mourning 
for  Patroclus  dead,  with  its  side-light  on  the  captive 
women's  woes ;  the  wailing  of  father,  mother,  wife, 
and  all  the  folk  of  Troy  over  the  fall  of  its  great  hero 
and  hope;  the  misery  of  Priam's  embassy  to  recover 
the  corpse  of  Hector,  and  the  meeting  of  crushed 
father  and  crushed  friend ;  the  final  wailing  as  the 
body  of  Hector  enters  the  gate  of  his  ruined  city. 

But  there  are  in  the  Iliad  relief  scenes  of  a  very 
different  type  from  this.  Pictures  of  divine  interference 
in  human  affairs  give  place  at  times  to  home  scenes  of 
the  divine  life  on  Olympus :  and  we  seem  to  read  in 
them  parodies  of  home  scenes  in  the  world  of  mortals. 

[124] 


CLASSICAL  EPIC  AND  TRAGEDY 

At  the  outset  of  the  story  Thetis  must  invoke  the 
interposition  of  Providence  on  behalf  of  the  Trojans; 
veiled  in  dawn  mist,  she  seeks  a  secret  conference  with 
Zeus ;  Zeus  gives  her  his  pledge,  but  has  misgivings  as 
to  what  his  "brawling  queen"  will  think  of  the  matter. 
And  not  without  reason :  for,  though  all  the  gods  rise 
in  awe-stricken  respect  as  Zeus  enters  Olympus,  yet 
this  does  not  prevent  a  scene  of  feminine  nagging. 
The  Queen  of  Heaven  has  marked  the  nod  which  has 
shaken  Olympus,  and  interprets  it  of  a  feminine  influ- 
ence outside  the  family,  which  she  thinks  means  favor- 
itism for  the  Trojans. 

Ha  !  thinkest  thou  ?  —  ever  thou  thinkest !  —  thou  spiest  on  me 

evermore !  .  .  . 
And  what  if  it  be  as  thou  think'st  ?  — 

The  head  of  the  divine  household  is  on  the  verge 
of  some  terrible  explosion,  but  the  Halt-foot  god, 
who  has  had  experiences  himself  in  this  way,  hastens 
to  effect  a  diversion ;  his  clumsy  attempts  to  hurry 
around  the  nectar  and  ambrosia  in  the  absence  of 
Hebe  restores  good  humor,  and  the  scene  ends  in 
domestic  feasting,  with  music  from  Apollo  and  the 
Muses  before  the  gods  retire  for  the  night.  This  is 
balanced  in  the  fourth  book  by  divine  nagging  on  the 
part  of  Zeus  himself:  ''with  word-shafts  glancing 
aslant,"  ''mocking  with  heart-stinging  taunt,"  he  lets 
it  be  known  to  the  ladies  of  his  household  how  they  are 
sitting  apart  from  the  trouble  of  their  Menelaus,  while 
the  Laughter-Queen  has  rescued  her  friend.  The 
daughter  nurses  her  wrath  in  silence,  the  wife  flashes 

[1251 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

out.  With  the  fixed  convention  of  Olympus  that  the 
gods  never  cross  one  another's  schemes,  Zeus  bids  the 
rest  do  what  they  will,  but  let  them  wait  until  he  has  a 
grudge  against  some  favorite  city  of  theirs.  Hera 
promptly  names  three  famous  Greek  cities  —  and  we 
may  presume  that  the  rhapsodic  reciter  would  vary 
the  names,  with  his  eye  upon  his  audience — and  vows 
that  Zeus  may  do  his  worst  against  them  if  only  she 
can  have  a  free  hand  with  Troy.  When,  in  the  fifth 
book,  Athene  gives  Diomedes  the  power  of  recognizing 
and  avoiding  gods  in  the  clash  of  battle,  she  makes  a 
spiteful  exception  in  the  case  of  one  single  deity : 
accordingly  Aphrodite  feels  herself  suddenly  stung  in 
the  wrist  with  the  point  of  a  mortal's  spear.  The 
divine  ichor  begins  to  flow,  and  in  frenzy  of  torment 
Aphrodite  borrows  her  brother's  chariot  and  flies  to  her 
mother's  knees,  to  tell  how  she  has  been  stabbed  while 
rescuing  her  darling  son ;  the  mother  comforts  her 
with  the  assurance  that  mortals  who  fight  with  the 
gods  never  live  long,  and  wipes  with  cool  palms  the 
wounded  arm;  Hera  and  Athene  look  on  with  hard 
eyes,  suggesting  some  love  passage  in  which  a  brooch 
has  scratched  the  dainty  hand,  while  Zeus  bids  his 
darling  leave  war  to  fiercer  deities.  A  different  measure 
is  dealt  out  to  Ares,  as  the  irrepressible  member  of  the 
divine  family,  who  inherits  his  mother's  overbearing 
spirit.  Athene  brings  Diomedes  to  stab  Ares  in  the 
battle,  the  goddess  guiding  the  spear  to  a  tender  spot  ; 
the  brazen  Ares  yells  a  yell  fit  for  some  nine  thousand 
mortals,  and  flees  in  anguish  to  show  the  blood  to  Zeus, 
who  snubs  him  for  his  whimpering  moan ;  as  a  member 

[126] 


CLASSICAL  EPIC  AND  TRAGEDY 

of  the  divine  household,  however,  he  is  allowed  the 
attentions  of  the  family  physician.  In  the  eighth 
book,  Athene  and  Hera  can  no  longer  bear  the  enforced 
neutrality,  and  begin  to  arm  themselves.  Iris  is  sent 
to  them  from  Zeus,  with  terrible  threats  of  physical 
consequences  to  the  daughter,  but  Zeus  is  not  so  indig- 
nant with  Hera,  as  she  is  always  crossing  him.  The 
goddesses  must  needs  unarm,  and  sit  down  indignant 
and  angry-souled ;  Zeus  comes  thundering  in  to  dare 
them  and  taunt  them  with  their  helplessness  to  resist. 
At  the  important  point  of  the  story  where  Zeus  turns 
his  attention  from  Troy  to  other  parts  of  the  world, 
and  Poseidon  has  his  chance  to  interpose,  Hera  sees 
an  opportunity  for  cozening  Zeus  with  wifely  charms. 
We  witness  a  divine  toilet  in  full  detail,  not  excepting 
the  casket  of  precious  ointment,  one  drop  of  which  if 
spilled  would  fill  earth  and  heaven  with  perfume; 
Hera  even  brings  herself  to  solicit  love- charms  from 
Aphrodite;  when  thus  prepared  she  approaches  Zeus 
on  Mount  Ida,  we  learn  how  arts  of  flirtation  can  be 
played  upon  a  husband.  Zeus  awakes  from  sleep  and 
perceives  how  he  has  been  imposed  upon,  but,  ere  the 
outburst  can  descend  upon  her,  the  wife  takes  refuge 
in  an  equivocation  that  seems  to  amuse  Zeus.  At  his 
bidding  she  returns  to  the  gods,  a  laugh  on  her  lips  and 
overglooming  scowl  upon  her  brow,  to  tell  them  there 
is  no  doing  anything  with  Zeus ;  yet  she  contrives  in  a 
parenthesis  to  let  out  the  news  that  Ares'  son  has 
fallen  in  the  fight,  which  drives  the  raging  deity  to  a 
fury  of  arming,  and  his  sister  must  take  him  by  the 
shoulder  and  bring  him  back  to  a  sense  of  the  irresistible. 

[127] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

Iris  as  messenger  bears  to  Poseidon  Zeus's  command 
to  drop  his  interference ;  Poseidon  indulges  in  tall  talk ; 
Iris  naively  asks  if  she  is  to  repeat  this  exactly  to  Zeus, 
or  whether  he  had  not  better  remember  the  Erinnyes 
that  wait  on  the  elder-born ;  Poseidon  climbs  down, 
and  thanks  Iris  for  a  word  in  season.  In  the  twenty- 
first  book,  when  the  clash  of  gods  comes,  Ares  seeks  a 
return  match  against  Athene  for  the  affair  of  Diomedes' 
spear;  but  the  cast  of  a  rugged  rock  lays  him  seven 
roods'  length  on  the  ground,  and  he  learns  how  far 
reasoned  force  is  above  blind  fury.  Aphrodite  leads 
her  rough  lover  away ;  Hera  tells  Athene,  and  Athene 
comes  and  smites  Aphrodite's  breast  with  brawny 
hand,  while  Hera  stands  smiling  by.  Poseidon  dares 
Apollo  to  the  combat,  but  Apollo  declines  to  match 
himself  against  his  much-respected  uncle.  For  this 
his  sister  Artemis  taunts  Apollo  with  being  a  coward ; 
whereupon  Hera  turns  upon  Artemis,  grips  her  wrists, 
buffets  her  with  her  own  bow,  smiling  ever;  Artemis 
twists  and  writhes,  flies  weeping  and  cowed,  and  sits  on 
Zeus's  knees  in  sorrowful  plight,  the  vesture  celestial 
shaken  with  sobs. 

In  all  this  are  we  correctly  interpreting  the  spirit  of 
these  Olympic  scenes?  There  is  precedent  for  the 
wholesale  misreading  by  one  age  of  the  poetic  spirit 
of  another  age :  Shakespearean  scholarship  to-day  in- 
clines to  the  belief  that  the  mad  scenes  of  Shakespeare's 
plays,  so  infinitely  pathetic  to  us,  were  by  their  own  age 
accepted  as  so  much  roaring  fun.  Yet  I  believe  that 
in  the  present  case  there  is  no  mistake :  the  natural 
impression  left  by  the  incidents  we  have  been  reviewing 

[1281 


CLASSICAL  EPIC  AND  TRAGEDY 

is  the  correct  interpretation,  and  the  divine  life  of 
Olympus  is  the  comic  element  in  the  Iliad.  There  is 
the  parallel  of  the  Satyric  Drama,  which  all  through 
the  literary  history  of  Athens  concluded  each  set  of 
tragedies  :  this  Satyric  Drama  was  simply  a  burlesque. 
There  is  the  still  closer  parallel  of  the  Sicilian  Drama 
associated  with  the  name  of  Epicharmus,  and  roughly 
contemporary  with  the  Homeric  tradition;  this,  from 
what  we  know  of  it  by  history  and  by  the  imitation  of 
it  in  Aristophanes,  seems  to  have  used  mythology  as  a 
mode  of  satire.  The  embassy  of  gods  to  the  City  of 
the  Birds  is  just  a  political  cartoon  of  ambassadors 
as  Aristophanes  saw  them  in  his  own  times.  The  word 
"  caricature"  etymologically  means  " overloading"  :  the 
enlargement  of  humanity  in  mythical  deity  lends  it- 
self to  the  enlargement  that  burlesques.  Nor  is  there 
anything  in  the  ancient  Greek  conception  of  Deity  to 
conflict  with  this.  In  Homeric  thought  Nature  and 
Man  and  Deity  seem  to  shade  into  one  another ;  they 
are  like  families  which  have  intermarried.  We  have 
personalities  sprung  from  a  human  and  a  divine  parent ; 
we  have  divine  horses ;  Iris  is  the  storm-footed  go- 
between  connecting  heaven  and  earth.  The  River  God, 
the  Fire  God,  even  Poseidon  and  Hades,  are  not,  in 
the  Iliad,  the  abstract  personifications  of  our  Classical 
Dictionaries,  but  a  river  that  floods,  a  fire  that  burns, 
the  ocean  and  under-world  that  lie  about  us.  Deity 
is  transcendental  Humanity  or  transcendental  Nature : 
whatever  we  see  in  humanity  or  in  nature  has  a  mag- 
nified counterpart  in  Deity.  Semitic  thought,  from 
which  our  modern  spiritual  conceptions  come,  here 
K  [  129  ] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

contrasts  sharply  with  Greek  thought.  Semitic 
thought  is  distinguished  by  absence  of  the  sense  of 
humor.  It  lays  its  emphasis,  not  on  humanity  in  its 
all-roundness,  but  upon  the  struggling  upward  and 
downward  tendencies  in  man ;  we  idealize  the  upward 
element  in  us  as  God,  the  downward  element  we  idealize 
as  something  else  —  perhaps  the  Devil.  But  to  the 
thought  of  old  Greece  God  would  include  the  Devil : 
intoxication  becomes  divine  in  Bacchus;  thieving 
becomes  divine  in  Hermes  or  the  Latin  Mercury ;  Ares, 
as  blind  rage,  is  just  as  much  a  deity  as  the  rationally 
controlled  force  of  Athene.  The  only  mistake  in  the 
matter  —  and  it  is  a  mistake  into  which  the  modern 
reader  may  easily  fall  —  is  to  see  any  necessary  conflict 
between  this  hilarious  handling  of  deity  and  what  is  its 
opposite,  equally  Greek,  the  awful  reverence  for  divin- 
ity as  controller  of  destiny  and  vindicator  of  right. 
Notwithstanding  its  comic  element,  the  drift  of  the 
whole  Iliad  is  ethical,  presenting  a  wrath  that  is  its 
own  punishment. 

The  movement,  then,  of  the  Iliad  is  made  by  the 
interplay  of  such  distinct  motives  and  such  scenes  of 
relief.  But  all  this  by  no  means  exhausts  the  interest 
of  the  poem.  The  subject-matter  of  such  works  as 
the  Iliad  and  Odyssey  has  a  literary  interest  hardly 
second  to  that  of  the  moulding  of  the  matter  by  the 
form.  As  remarked  before,  the  Homeric  poems  are 
a  concrete  embodiment  of  prehistoric  civilization; 
and  few  literary  exercises  are  more  interesting  than  to 
take  the  concrete  picture  to  pieces  and  resolve  it  into 
its  elements.     We  can  from  this  source  study  the  social 

[130] 


CLASSICAL  EPIC  AND  TRAGEDY 

stratification  of  antiquity,  and  the  social  ideals  that 
this  evokes.  We  can  see  with  what  degree  of  definite- 
ness  political  conceptions  have  formulated  themselves, 
what  are  the  mutual  relations  of  the  governing  powers 
and  the  democratic  spirit  in  public  assemblies,  and  in 
the  ordinary  administration  of  life.  We  can  get  into 
touch  with  primitive  religion :  can  catch  its  dominant 
ideas  of  Destiny  and  Deity,  and  trace  their  all-per- 
vasive influence  on  daily  life;  we  can  follow  the  re- 
ligious ceremonials,  and  see  how  the  high  ritual  of 
sacrifice  merges  in  the  good-fellowship  of  the  body  of 
worshippers.  There  is  especially  abundant  material  for 
studying  the  position  of  woman  in  the  Homeric  age, 
her  dignity  in  peace,  the  pathos  of  her  relationship  to 
war ;  we  realize  how  much  closer  to  our  own  ideas  is  the 
Homeric  conception  of  woman  and  family  life  than  are 
the  conceptions  of  these  that  are  found  in  later  periods 
of  history.  Precise  notions  can  be  formed  of  Homeric 
art,  and  of  the  material  side  of  Homeric  civilization : 
its  cities,  its  houses  and  ships,  its  commerce,  its  imple- 
ments of  peace  and  mode  of  warfare.  Elaborate 
treatises  on  subjects  like  these  can  be  and  have  been 
written,  based  on  materials  mainly  drawn  from  these 
poems.  The  whole  civilized  life  that  preceded  the 
dawn  of  modern  history  has  been  brought  closer  to  our 
imaginative  sympathy,  and  even  to  our  analysis,  than 
the  civilization  we  are  obliged  to  call  historical. 

There  is  one  kind  of  poetic  interest  which  we  look  for 
in  all  types  of  poetry  —  the  handling  of  external  nature. 
On  this  point  the  Iliad  is  worthy  of  special  study.  In 
modern  poetry  of  the  narrative  order  we  expect  to  find 

[131] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

direct  descriptions  of  nature,  often  lengthy  and  elabo- 
rate ;  and  this  seems  to  enter  into  the  poem  as  an  end 
in  itself.  Such  direct  nature  poetry  is  hardly  found  in 
the  Iliad,  unless  in  the  very  special  section  of  the  poem 
devoted  to  the  sculptured  armor  of  Achilles  :  here  some 
of  the  scenes  depicted  may  be  called  nature  scenes. 
Still  less  do  we  find  that  specially  modern  treatment,  of 
which  William  Morris  is  so  great  a  master,  and  in  which 
nature  is  made  a  dramatic  background  for  incident, 
changes  of  light  or  scene  moving  in  mystic  sympathy 
with  changes  in  events,  as  if  Ruskin's  "pathetic  fallacy" 
were  being  adopted  into  the  spirit  of  the  action.^  There 
is  one  remarkable  episode  of  the  Iliad,  already  noted,  in 
which  physical  nature  may  be  said  to  enter  into  the  epic 
action :  the  contest  of  Achilles  with  the  River  God  is  a 
contest  with  the  River  itself,  and  magnificent  presenta- 
tion of  nature  forces  is  the  result.  But  as  a  regular 
thing  beauties  of  the  external  world  are  in  the  Iliad 
brought  into  the  poem  indirectly,  by  the  artificial  de- 
vices of  the  metaphor  and  the  simile.  The  recurrent 
phrases  by  which  so  often  mention  is  made  of  morning 
and  night  are  gems  of  metaphorical  word-picturing. 
In  the  simile  description  is  on  a  large  scale ;  a  great  part 
of  the  similes  in  the  Iliad  are  drawn  from  natural  ob- 
jects. These  are  of  course  one  of  the  notable  features 
of  Homeric  poetry ;  I  would  suggest  to  any  reader,  who 
has  not  already  done  so,  that  he  should  mark  in  the 
margin  of  his  Homer  every  occurrence  of  a  simile ;  let 
him  then  read  again  these  similes  independently  of  the 
context,  and  he  will  appreciate  what  a  wealth  of  nature 

^  Compare  below,  pages  328-9. 
[  132  ] 


CLASSICAL  EPIC  AND  TRAGEDY 

beauty  is  by  this  means  imported  into  the  poem.  Not- 
able also  is  the  distribution  of  these  similes,  and  the  use 
made  of  them.  In  the  Iliad  we  may  often  read  many 
hundred  lines  together  without  finding  a  simile,  except 
momentary  comparisons  that  carry  no  pictorial  force. 
Elsewhere  the  similes  come  crowding  together,  treading 
on  one  another's  heels.  Very  occasionally,  the  effect 
of  a  simile  may  be  classified  under  the  head  of  relief 
effect :  such,  surely,  is  the  interpretation  of  the  point 
in  book  twelve,  where,  in  the  hottest  moment  of  the 
rampart  storming,  the  strain  of  fighting  heroes  and  fly- 
ing missiles  is  broken  by  a  simile  of  exquisite  calm :  — 

As  fall  on  a  wintry  day  thick-thronging  the  flakes  of  the  snow, 
When  Zeus  the  Counsel-father  bestirreth  himself,  to  show 
Unto  men  what  manner  of  arrows  be  shot  from  his  quivers  of  cloud ;  — 
His  winds  hath  he  hush'd,  and  he  still  snoweth  on,  tiU  his  white  pall 

shroud 
High  mountain-crests,  huge  forelands  that  loom  through  the  laden 

air, 
And  the  clover-mantled  meadows,  and  menfolk's  acres  fair ; 
It  is  shed  on  the  grey  sea's  havens,  it  fringeth  the  rocky  shore, 
But  the  surge-sweep  keepeth  it  back ;  all  else  is  covered  o'er 
With  its  veil,  when  heavily  earthward  the  shower  of  Kronion  doth 

pour  ; 
So  flew  thick-thronging  the  stones  by  foes  fast  hurled  against  foes.^ 

More  usually,  the  simile  seems  to  come  as  a  mode  of 
emphasis :  human  effort  intensified  by  nature  similes 
seems  to  take  on  elemental  force.  Such  is  the  effect,  in 
the  second  book,  of  the  Greek  hosts  smitten  with  sudden 
impulse  mustering  for  battle:    their  flashing  weapons 

1  This  and  the  other  quotations  from  the  Iliad  are  taken  from 
Mr.  Way's  translation. 

[133] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

gleam  —  like  a  forest  fire  on  a  mountain  ridge ;  they 
pour  fortli  to  the  plain  and  halt  —  like  a  flock  of  cranes 
settling ;  they  swarm  over  the  plain  —  like  multitu- 
dinous flies  in  spring  wheeling  and  dancing  round  the 
foaming  milk-pails ;  they  resolve  into  ordered  files — like 
goats  severed  drove  by  drove ;  their  hero-king  towers 
above  them  —  like  the  bull  that  in  goodlihead  outshines 
all  the  herd.  So  largely  is  the  Iliad  the  fountainhead 
of  epic  poetry  that  its  treatment  of  the  important  poetic 
device  of  the  simile,  and  the  relation  of  this  to  the  hand- 
ling of  nature  beauty,  is  worthy  of  all  attention.  The 
epic  of  description  is  not  yet ;  the  epic  of  action  by  this 
treatment  becomes  a  gallery  hung  round  with  cameos 
of  nature  metaphors  and  full-length  simile  pictures  of 
natural  scenery. 

IV 

The  Odyssey  is  perhaps  the  most  universally  charming 
poem  in  all  literature.  What  it  yields  to  constructive 
analysis  is  not  less  striking  than  its  human  interest.  When 
it  is  compared  with  the  Iliad,  we  note  the  epic  evolution 
which  consists  in  the  advancing  control  of  matter  by 
form ;  there  is  here  no  disturbing  force  of  over-luxuriant 
detail,  but  every  part  of  the  subject-matter  has  a  clearly 
defined  place  in  the  symmetrical  plot  and  movements. 

Plot  op  the  Odyssey 

Main  Story :  of  Odysseus 

Complication :   Wonders  [nine  episodes] :  swayed  by  Poseidon 
Resolution :  Adventures  [nine  episodes] :  swayed  by  Athene 
[134] 


CLASSICAL  EPIC  AND  TRAGEDY 

Underplot :  of  Domestic  Life 

The  Faithful  Six  [Wife  —  Son  —  Father  —  Nurse  —  Swineherd 

—  Neatherd] 
The  Hostile  Three  [Goatherd  —  Melantho  and  the  Maids  — 

Crowd  of  Suitors] 

Secondary  Satellite  Stories 

Six  Historic  Feats  of  Odysseus  [The  Beggar — Strife  with  Aj  ax — 

The  Wooden  Horse  —  The  Boar  Scar  —  The  Bow  —  The 

Bridal  Bed] 
Three  Parallels  [Menelaus  to  Odysseus — Orestes  and  Theo- 

clymenus  to  Telemachus] 

We  find  in  the  Odyssey  what  was  destined  to  become  the 
dominant  plot  form  for  universal  literature,  both  in  epic 
and  dramatic  story :  the  form  that  describes  itself  by  its 
technical  name  of  Complication  and  Resolution.  The 
distinctness  of  the  two  elements  of  this  plot  is  indicated 
in  more  than  one  passage  of  the  poem ;  what  we  must 
call  the  Complication  —  the  series  of  incidents  leading 
Odysseus  farther  and  farther  from  home,  and  plung- 
ing him  deeper  and  deeper  into  trouble  —  is  represented 
as  under  the  providential  sway  of  the  god  Poseidon ;  the 
incidents  bringing  about  the  return  of  the  wanderer,  and 
the  Resolution  of  the  action,  are  with  equal  clearness 
controlled  by  the  goddess  Athene.  When  the  hero  meets 
Athene  upon  his  own  isle  of  Ithaca,  he  addresses  her : — 

But  this  I  know  full  surely,  thou  wert  kind  a  while  agone 
While  we  sons  of  the  Achaeans  by  Troy-town  fought  the  fight ; 
But  when  the  steep  city  of  Priam  we  had  overthrown  outright 
And  went  up  on  our  ships,  and  God  scattered  the  Achaeans  wide 

abroad, 
I  saw  thee  not  thenceforward,  nor  yet  my  ship  aboard 

[135] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

Did  I  note  thee,  0  Daughter  of  Zeus,  for  the  putting  away  of  my 

woe; 
But  ever  with  heart  sore  burdened  a  wandering  did  I  go 
Till  the  day  when  the  Gods  unbound  me  and  the  spell  of  evil  broke, 
And  there  midst  the  men  Phseacian  and  the  very  wealthy  folk 
With  words  then  didst  thou  cheer  me,  and  me  to  the  city  didst  lead. 

And  Athene  in  her  answer  explains :  — 

But  look  you,  I  had  no  mind  against  Poseidon  to  fight, 

My  father's  very  brother,  who  had  thee  in  despite. 

For  wrath  because  of  thy  blinding  of  his  weU-belov6d  son.* 

There  is  again  a  difference  of  spirit  between  the  two 
parts  of  the  story :  the  incidents  of  the  return  are  suflfi- 
ciently  described  by  the  term  "Adventures"  ;  the  inci- 
dents making  the  comphcation  are  more  than  adventures ; 
they  have  a  mystic  and  supernatural  color  making  them 
Wonder  Incidents. 

The  Trojan  War  lies,  in  the  Odyssey,  too  far  in  the  past 
to  have  any  place  in  the  plot.  Instead  of  an  envelop- 
ing action  we  here  have  an  underplot :  the  fortunes  of 
the  family  and  household  life  of  Odysseus  are  worked  up 
into  an  interest  only  second  to  that  of  the  hero  himself. 
Corresponding  to  the  complication  and  resolution  of  the 
main  story  we  have,  in  the  underplot,  the  antithesis  of 
the  Faithful  Six  and  the  Hostile  Three.  The  point  here 
is,  not  the  mere  fact  that  six  are  faithful  to  Odysseus 
where  three  are  hostile,  but  that  each  of  the  nine  per- 
sonages (or  groups)  as  named  in  the  scheme  is  the  centre 
of  a  story,  which  could  be  abstracted  from  the  poem  and 
narrated  independently,  with  a  plot  interest  of  its  own. 

*  Book  xiii,  lines  314,  341  (of  William  Morris's  translation). 
[136] 


CLASSICAL  EPIC  AND  TRAGEDY 

Even  the  secondary  stories  of  the  Odyssey  are  seen  to 
have  been  drawn  within  the  unity  bond,  till  they  have 
become  satelhte  stories  revolving  around  the  principal 
figures.  Six  of  these  are  stories  narrated  by  one  or  other 
personage  of  the  main  narrative;  but,  instead  of  the 
miscellaneous  narratives  of  the  Iliad,  they  are  six  historic 
feats  of  Odysseus,  supporting  the  characteristic  epithet 
that  is  continually  describing  him  as  polymetis  —  the 
shifty,  the  man  of  resource.  In  addition  to  these,  we 
have  three  stories  (or  minor  portions  of  the  action) 
which  have  distinctness  given  to  them  as  presenting 
parallels  to  the  main  personages.  Every  reader  must  be 
struck  by  the  prominence  given  throughout  to  Theocly- 
menus,  who  would  seem  to  be  a  superfluous  personage ; 
the  explanation  is  found  in  the  words  with  which  he  first 
accosts  Telemachus  and  claims  to  be  his  counterpart, 
like  him  an  exile  oppressed  by  superior  foes.  Again,  em- 
phasis is  given  to  the  story  of  Orestes,  but  this  is  always 
to  hold  him  up  as  the  great  example  by  which  Telema- 
chus is  inspired  to  filial  piety.  Most  distinct  of  all  is 
the  parallel  by  which,  in  passage  after  passage,  Mene- 
laus  is  suggested  as  the  minor  counterpart  of  Odysseus 
in  his  life  of  wandering  and  final  glory.  Menelaus's  first 
presentation  of  himself  sounds  like  an  echo  of  the  whole 
Odyssey.  — 

Yet  at  least  many  things  have  I  suffered,  and  have  wandered  far  and 

near, 
And  about  in  ships  have  been  flitted  to  come  back  in  the  eighth  long 

year. 
To  Cyprus  and  Phoenicia  and  Egypt  have  I  strayed ; 
-Ethiopia  too,  and  Sidon,  and  Erembian  land  we  made, 

1137] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

And  Lybia  withal,  where  the  lambs  are  full-horned  from  their  very 

birth, 
And  thrice  are  the  sheepkind  yeaning  in  the  space  of  one  year  of  the 

earth  ; 
Where  neither  king  nor  shepherd  may  ever  lack  to  eat 
Of  either  cheese  or  flesh-meat,  or  to  drink  milk  fresh  and  sweet, 
For  yearlong  there  unceasing  they  yield  to  the  milking-trough. 
But  while  about  I  wandered  and  gat  me  gear  enough, 
That  very  while  another  was  taking  my  brother's  life, 
In  covert  wise  and  unwares  by  the  wiles  of  his  wicked  wife. 

Similarly,  Menelaus  detained  by  the  gods  in  Egypt  has 
his  future  unveiled  to  him  by  the  prophetic  Elder  of  the 
Sea,  as  Odysseus  is  held  in  Circe's  isle,  and  receives 
prophecies  from  her  and  from  Tiresias  to  whom  she 
sends  him.  By  a  final  touch  of  parallel  the  lives  of 
both  these  long -wandering  men  are  to  be  crowned  by 
an  end  of  mystic  peace.  Menelaus  is  to  pass  from  his 
home  to  the  world's  utmost  end  — 

Wherein  are  the  softest  life-days  that  men  may  ever  gain  ; 
No  snow  and  no  ill  weather,  nor  any  drift  of  rain ; 
But  Ocean  ever  wafteth  the  wind  of  the  shrilly  west. 
On  menfolk  ever  breathing,  to  give  them  might  and  rest. 

And  Odysseus,  who  has  searched  the  farthest  bounds  of 
the  waters,  is  at  the  last  to  pass  from  his  home  to  the 
very  end  of  the  land  world,  where  men  have  never  seen 
an  oar :  — 

Then  thy  death  from  the  sea  shall  come 
Exceeding  mild  and  gentle,  and  thereby  shalt  thou  fade  out 
By  eld  smooth-creeping  wasted ;  and  the  people  round  about 
Shall  be  grown  all  bUthe  and  happy.  ^ 

^  Book  iv,  lines  81,  563,  and  book  xi,  line  134  (of  William  Morris's 
translation). 

[138] 


CLASSICAL  EPIC  AND  TRAGEDY 

The  case  is  similar  when  we  turn  to  the  progression  of 
incidents  :  the  Odyssey  gives  us  the  type  of  movement 
that  was  destined  to  prevail  in  classical  poetry.  It 
may  be  called  the  Foreshortening  of  Story :  when  per- 
fectly worked  out,  as  in  the  present  case,  it  implies  that, 
where  a  plot  is  made  up  of  a  complication  and  a  resolu- 
tion, the  movement  commences  with  the  resolution,  leav- 
ing the  earlier  incidents  that  make  the  complication  to 
appear  later  on,  in  narrative  review.  Such  foreshort- 
ening is  practically  universal  in  classical  drama :  the 
fixity  of  the  ancient  stage  made  it  necessary  actually  to 
present  only  the  end  of  the  story,  while  its  earlier  part 
appears  indirectly  by  inference  or  allusion.  And  in 
epic  the  same  treatment  is  roughly  described  by  the 
principle  of  plunging  in  medias  res,  which  to  Horace  and 
critics  of  his  type  has  seemed  so  necessary  a  law  of  epic. 

The  application  of  all  this  to  the  Odyssey  becomes 
clear  if  we  divide  the  course  of  the  poem  into  nine  suc- 
cessive incidents. 

The  Council  of  Gods 
Home  in  Odysseus'  absence 
Telemachus  in  search  of  his  Father 
The  Isle  of  Calypso 
The  Phaeacian  Wonderland  and  the 
Hero's  Story  of  his  wanderings 
The  Cot  of  Eumseus 
Odysseus  as  the  Wandering  Beggar 
Catastrophe  and  Triumph 
Winding  up  of  the  Story 

The  poem  opens  with  the  Council  in  Heaven,  in  which 
the  final  return  of  Odysseus,  which  is  to  be  the  resolu- 

[139] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

tion  of  the  plot,  is  foreshadowed.  The  next  section 
serves  the  underplot,  picturing  the  home  in  the  absence 
of  its  lord ;  when  the  divine  visitor  gives  her  hints  to  the 
young  son  of  the  house,  the  final  return  of  Odysseus  is 
being  foreshadowed  on  earth.  The  third  section  is  the 
main  development  of  the  underplot;  but  also  in  this 
expedition  of  Telemachus  in  search  of  his  father  we 
have  the  resolution  of  the  whole  action  seen  in  prepara- 
tion. The  fourth  episode  brings  us  to  the  Isle  of  Ca- 
lypso, which  is  the  farthest  bound  of  the  hero's  outward 
voyage ;  when  in  this  isle  Hermes  comes  from  heaven  to 
release  him,  the  complication  and  resolution  of  the  action 
have  met.  All  the  direct  action  of  the  poem  that  fol- 
lows this  is  obviously  so  many  stages  in  the  return  of  .. 
Odysseus.  But  in  the  central  episode  of  the  nine,;^'^'* 
the  Visit  to  the  Phaeacian  Land,  we  have  the  Ban->v 
quet  and  Story  of  the  hero,  which  contains  the  whole 
series  of  wonder  incidents  making  the  complication 
of  the  plot. 

Incident  of  the  Cicones 

Incident  of  the  Cyclops 

Incident  of  the  Lotus-Eaters 

Incident  of  the  Cave  of  iEolus 

Incident  of  the  Laestrygonian  Giants 

Incident  of  Circe's  Isle 

Descent  to  Hades 

Prophetically  foretold  Incidents  of  the  Sirens,  etc. 

Calypso's  Isle 

By  a  beautiful  stroke  of  story  art,  this  Land  of  the  Phae- 
acians  is  made  itself  a  Wonderland,  appropriate  envelop- 

[140] 


CLASSICAL  EPIC  AND  TRAGEDY 

ing  action  for  the  chain  of  wonders  which  Odysseus'  story 
presents. 

The  poetic  interest  of  the  Odyssey  is  transparently 
clear,  rendering  comment  superfluous.  Of  the  special 
motives  underlying  it  the  chief  is  connected  with  the 
treatment  of  the  wonder  incidents.  We  have  here 
something  more  than  the  general  poetic  interest  of  the 
marvellous :  touches  of  detail,  too  numerous  to  be  acci- 
dental, seem  to  serve  as  basis  for  the  marvels.  It  would 
be  a  gross  distortion  of  the  effect  I  am  trying  to  indicate 
if  we  were  to  say  that  the  wonders  are  rationalized. 
Their  appeal  is,  in  the  fullest  degree,  to  our  sense  of  the 
marvellous ;  yet  particular  details  suggest  how  these 
marvels  have  retained  their  hold  on  the  poetic  fancy ; 
what  we  get  is  riddling  hints  as  to  the  genesis  of  stories, 
an  adumbration  of  the  coming  interest  of  mythology. 

The  first  incident  of  the  Cicones  is  so  slightly  tinged 
with  the  marvellous  that  we  may  doubt  whether  it  may 
not  be  classed  merelj^  as  an  ordinary  adventure:  the 
onslaught  of  Odysseus  and  his  final  repulse  may  be  noth- 
ing more  than  the  piracy  which  was  an  accepted  idea  of 
ancient  life.  If  it  be  so  classed,  this  need  not  disturb 
the  general  course  of  the  movement  as  described  above ; 
the  case  then  becomes  this,  that  the  outward  voyage  of 
the  hero  commences  in  the  ordinary  experience  of  a  sea-go- 
ing life,  and  passes  gradually  into  the  region  of  mystery. 
At  the  same  time,  if  the  etymological  explanation  of  the 
name  "Cicones"  as  ''Storks"  or  "Cranes"  be  correct/ 

1  The  fact  that  these  etymologies  are  scientifically  doubtful  does 
not  prevent  their  having  suggested  connection  of  ideas  in  ancient 
thought. 

[1411 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

we  may  see  a  mythological  hint  of  ancient  piracy  as  part 
of  the  migratory  element  in  external  nature ;  a  fainter 
echo  of  the  idea  underlying  the  myth  of  the  ''Har- 
pies," or  "Snatchers,"  which  in  part  idealizes  the  foul 
descents  of  piratical  wasters.  Etymological  suggest- 
iveness  underlies  the  names  "Circe,"  the  "Hawk"  or 
Bird  of  Prey,  and  "Sirens,"  founded  on  the  root  of 
"drawing"  :  but  this  is  lost  in  the  deep  moral  interest 
of  the  incidents.  The  name  "Sky  11a"  is  founded  on 
the  root  of  "rending";  "Charybdis"  is  compounded 
of  cha-,  which  suggests  yawning  gulf,  and  rhoibdos,  a 
rushing  noise ;  but  here  we  have  also  the  natural  horrors 
of  the  octopus  and  the  quicksand  intensified.  Perhaps 
the  incident  which,  in  comparison  with  the  rest,  hangs 
most  unsupported  in  the  region  of  the  marvellous  is  that 
of  the  Oxen  of  the  Sun.  Yet  here  we  note  that  the  Sicily 
in  which  the  incident  is  located  is  called  in  the  text  the 
"three-horned"  isle.  When,  further,  we  note  that  the 
herds  of  these  oxen  are  goddesses  whose  names  —  Phae- 
thusa  and  Lampetie  —  are  founded  on  the  idea  of  light, 
that  the  Sun  joys  in  these  oxen  as  he  goes  aloft  on  his 
way  to  the  heavens,  especially  that  when  the  oxen  are 
slain  the  flayed-off  skins  creep  onward,  we  can  see  poetic 
fancy  playing  upon  the  idea  of  clouds  as  the  oxen  of  the 
sun,  the  same  idea  that  underHes  the  Homeric  epithet 
of  Zeus  as  "cloud-compeller,"  or  herdsman  of  the 
clouds. 

Three  of  the  incidents  call  for  fuller  notice.  —  1.  The 
incident  of  the  Lsestrygonians  might  for  the  most  part 
seem  a  voyager's  adventure  of  giants  and  cannibalism, 
enhanced  by  the  description  of  the  deceptive  haven  as 

[142] 


CLASSICAL  EPIC  AND  TRAGEDY 

a  sort  of  human  trap.  But  this  does  not  take  in  one 
element  in  the  description  of  the  region :  — 

where  herd  to  herd  doth  cry 
As  he  wendeth  afield,  and  his  fellow  thence  coming  him  doth  hear. 
And  forsooth  a  twofold  hire  might  the  sleepless  win  him  there, 
And  one  spell  the  neat  be  herding,  and  one  the  sheep-kind  white ; 
For  there  anigh  to  each  other  are  the  ways  of  day  and  of  night. 

In  these  mysterious  words  we  seem  to  have  suggestions 
of  some  dimly  conceived  Arctic  region.  If  this  is  cor- 
rect, the  incident  falls  into  the  large  class  of  myths 
which  realize  the  geographical  extremities  of  the  old 
world  as  wonderlands  of  good  or  evil.  The  Ocean  that 
is  border  for  the  rest  of  the  world  has  its  shore  of  Cim- 
merian gloom.  On  the  west  we  have  the  wondrous 
Gardens  of  the  Hesperides ;  on  the  far  east  — 

—  the  isle  ^sean  where  the  house  of  the  Day-dawn  lies, 
Where  danceth  the  Mother  of  Morning  and  the  Sun  maketh  ready 
to  rise. 

This  is  Circe's  isle :  the  far  Orient,  with  its  mystic  poisons, 
is  the  home  of  myths  that  are  intensifications  of  drug 
powers ;  to  this  large  class  of  myths  belong,  not  only  the 
herb  charms  of  Circe  and  the  countercharm  of  the  won- 
drous ''moly,"  but  also  the  incident  of  the  Lotus-eaters, 
though  in  this  last  case  there  is  no  hint  of  localization. 
Thenorth  appears  a  wonderland  in  the  "Hyperboreans," 
who  dwell  beyond  the  north  wind.  The  ''blameless 
Ethiopians,"  in  this  poem,  are  ''outermost  of  menfolk," 
alike  on  the  extreme  east  and  the  extreme  west.  The 
name  of  Calypso's  isle,  Ogygia,  is  etymologically  con- 
nected with  Ocean ;  it  is  described  as  an  isle  of  the  cir- 

[143] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

cling  ocean,  the  navel  of  the  sea,  a  tree-covered  wonder- 
land ;  Calypso  herself  is  daughter  of  Atlas,  who  holds  the 
pillars  that  sunder  heaven  from  earth :  in  all  this  we 
have  an  attempt  mythically  to  idealize  the  extreme 
"horizon."  And  we  have  already  had  to  note  the 
wonder  regions  of  earth's  extremities  that  are  associated 
with  the  final  lives  of  Menelaus  and  Odysseus :  in  the 
one  case,  ''fields  Elysian  in  the  wide  world's  utmost 
end  "  ;  in  the  other  case,  a  mystic  region  as  infinitely  dis- 
tant from  the  sea  as  the  wanderings  of  Odysseus  had 
led  him  to  an  infinite  distance  from  the  land. 

2.  The  Cave  of  ^olus  is  a  floating  isle,  with  a  brazen 
wall  unbroken  and  sheer  cliffs ;  the  gift  ^olus  gives 
Odysseus  is  a  wallet  in  which  are  confined  all  ways  of 
the  blustering  winds  except  the  single  wind  which  wafts 
the  voyagers  home;  when  these  open  the  bag,  the 
''whirl-blast"  catches  them,  and  they  are  driven  right 
back  to  the  very  point  from  which  they  had  started. 
In  all  this  we  have  the  riddle  of  the  *'  circle  of  the  wind" 
as  it  appeared  to  antiquity :  how  (in  the  words  of  Eccle- 
siastes)  "it  goeth  toward  the  south  and  turneth  about 
unto  the  north ;  it  turneth  about  continually  in  its 
course,  and  the  wind  returneth  again  to  its  circuits." 
And  with  this  we  may  connect  the  strange  detail  of 
bolus's  household,  which  (be  it  observed)  is  presented 
not  as  a  horror  but  as  a  lovely  thing :  — 

Twelve  children  born  of  his  body  abide  in  his  house  and  hall, 
And  six  thereof  are  daughters  and  six  lusty  sons  and  tall ; 
And  unto  his  sons  in  wedlock  his  daughters  did  he  give ; 
And  beside  their  father  beloved  and  their  mother  dear  they  live 
In  endless  feast. 

[144] 


CLASSICAL  EPIC  AND  TRAGEDY 

The  natural  use  of  wedlock  is  to  take  an  individual  from 
one  family  into  another:  this  confinement  of  wedlock 
within  the  family  is  again  the  riddle  of  the  wind  return- 
ing to  its  circuits. 

3.  The  Incident  of  Polyphemus  is  such  a  tour  deforce 
of  the  interest  of  adventure  that  we  need  look  for  noth- 
ing more.  And  yet  certain  points  reiterated  in  the  de- 
scription carry  our  ideas  farther.  On  the  one  hand,  the 
scene  is  described  as  a  wealth  of  pastoral  riches  — 
cheeses,  whey,  curds,  rams  and  sheep,  stores  of  milk; 
order  and  method  moreover  in  things  pastoral  are  em- 
phasized. On  the  other  hand,  there  is  a  negation  of  all 
agriculture,  ships  or  crafts,  or  travel;  negation  of  law 
and  the  meetings  of  wise  men ;  negation  of  all  care  for 
gods,  or  righteousness,  or  fellowship.  With  this  goes 
the  insistence  upon  the  idea  of  monstrosity :  not  only 
the  horror  of  the  single  eye,  but  hideousness  of  scale 
which  makes  Polyphemus  like  a  ''crag  o'ergrown." 
The  spirit  of  all  this  is  the  later  stages  of  human  civiliza- 
tion looking  back  upon  the  earlier  pastoral  stage  as  a 
monstrous  life,  as  all  that  is  implied  etymologically  in 
the  word  ''savage."  It  is  the  more  interesting  from  its 
sharp  contrast  with  the  idea  which  a  later  age  of  poetry 
was  to  read  into  Sicilian  life,  when  Theocritus  was  to 
start  the  long  tradition  of  pastoral  poetry,  and  make  the 
shepherd  life  the  conventional  clothing  for  all  that  was 
most  sentimental  and  idyllic. 

The  same  treatment  can  be  seen  on  a  more  elaborate 
scale  where  the  poem  pictures  for  us  the  Land  of  the 
Phseacians.  There  are  three  notes  in  the  description. 
In  the  first  place,  we  are  told  how  the  Phseacians  once 

h  I  145  ] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

had  intercourse  with  the  gods,  how  they  are  of  the  kin 
of  gods  and  races  of  wild-men  giants,  how  they  dwelt  in 
time  past  by  Hypereia  (the  realm  on  high),  where  they 
were  wasted  by  war  with  the  Cyclops  who  had  the  mas- 
tery. We  must  remember  that  the  word  "Cyclops," 
used  originally  of  the  Sun  as  the  single  Eye  of  the  heav- 
ens, applies  in  mythology  not  only  to  beings  like  Poly- 
phemus, but  also  to  the  Cyclopes  of  Hesiod  and  Virgil, 
who  appear  as  volcanic  forces,  with  names — Brontes, 
Steropes,  Arges — connected  with  thunder  and  lightning. 
We  hear  further  that  it  was  Nausithous  (or  Boatswift) 
who  roused  the  Phseacians,  and  brought  them  to  Scheria 
(mainland)  and  established  them  there;  their  fame  is 
their  ships,  swift  as  birds,  swift  as  thought ;  these  ships 
need  no  rudder,  for  they  know  the  minds  of  men  and  all 
men's  cities ;  they  pass  exceedingly  swiftly  over  the  sea, 
in  the  mist  and  the  cloud-rack  hidden ;  once  they  flitted 
Rhadamanthus  —  the  name  suggests  the  tender  branch 
or  flower  of  spring  —  to  the  utmost  part  of  the  earth  and 
came  back  again  unwearied.  The  riddling  fancy  under- 
lying and  playing  through  all  this  is  the  conception 
of  clouds  as  the  boats  of  the  sky :  cloud  shadows  can 
be  pictured  achieving  these  mystic  passages ;  clouds 
broken  by  the  Cyclops-storms  are  transferred  to  earth 
and  bring  spring  flowers,  or  as  boats  resume  their 
voyaging  from  end  to  end  of  the  world.  Accordingly, 
in  the  second  place,  the  region  of  the  Phseacians 
is  pictured  as  a  wonderland,  one  of  the  paradises  in 
the  mystic  regions  of  the  earth's  extremities,  for  the 
Phseacians  are  ''the  outermost  of  menfolk."  A  third 
note  of  interest  is  found  in  the  end  of  the  Phseacian  In- 

[146] 


CLASSICAL  EPIC  AND  TRAGEDY 

cident :  the  penal  end  when  the  ship  in  which  Odysseus 
has  been  miraculously  flitted  to  his  home  is,  by  the 
jealousy  of  the  Ocean  God,  metamorphosed  suddenly 
into  a  mountain  rock  nigh  the  land,  shading  over  the 
Phseacian  city,  that  so  they  may  no  longer  ferry  mortals 
over  the  sea  scathless.  Here  we  recognize  a  fixed  idea 
of  antiquity  —  the  presumption  implied  in  a  sea  voyage, 
familiar  to  us  in  Horace' swell-known  ode,^  or  the  wonder 
ode  in  Sophocles'  Antigone:  as  if  the  venturing  upon 
the  treacherous  sea  was  a  tempting  of  Providence.  And 
it  is  an  exquisite  stroke  of  poetic  art  that  uses  this  final 
touch  of  the  incident  to  bring  to  an  end  the  enveloping 
action :  we  listen  to  the  story  of  wonders  in  surround- 
ings which  are  themselves  wonderland,  but  the  door  of 
this  wonderland  is  suddenly  closed,  and  the  Phseacians 
will  be  seen  by  men  no  more. 

V 

The  hterary  scheme  suggested  in  this  chapter  com- 
bines Greek  tragedy  with  Greek  epic.  The  reader, 
following  through  its  course  the  floating  tradition,  has 
one  phase  of  it  presented  in  epic  form,  another  phase  in 
a  tragedy;  upon  another  light  from  both  sources  is 
concentrated.  Different,  and  often  contradictory,  pre- 
sentations of  the  same  matter  are  set  before  him.  But 
this  only  increases  the  interest  of  the  treatment :  few 
exercises  are  more  suggestive  than  to  compare,  for  ex- 
ample, the  personality  of  Odysseus  as  he  appears  in  the 
Iliad  and  as  he  appears  in  the  Odyssey,  and  again  as  he 

1  Ode  3  of  Book  I. 
[147] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

is  treated  in  the  various  tragedies  in  which  he  plays  a 
part.  It  is  not  possible  here  to  discuss  the  separate 
tragedies.  Nor  is  there  any  need :  in  the  case  of  the 
modern  reader,  at  least,  drama  brings  home  its  ma- 
terial closer  to  the  sympathies  and  discernment  than 
does  narrative  poetry.  All  I  can  do  at  this  point 
is  to  offer  some  remarks  upon  Greek  tragedy  in 
general.^ 

Of  the  multitudinous  forms  into  which  world  literature 
is  seen  to  fall,  none  is  so  remarkable,  or  so  highly  special- 
ized, as  Greek  tragedy.  It  is  a  many-voiced  organ  of 
hterature.  Two  out  of  the  three  branches  of  poetry. 
Lyric  and  Drama,  enter  into  it ;  the  Episodes  are  dra- 
matic scenes  in  the  modern  sense,  the  Choral  Odes  are 
pure  lyrics.  The  dramatic  and  lyric  elements  alternate, 
and,  in  the  parts  of  a  tragedy  called  ''Stage  Lyrics,"  the 
two  are  fused  together :  here  the  dramatic  scenes  have 
caught  the  lyric  spirit,  and  we  have  the  Monody  of  the 
actor  and  the  Lyric  Concerto  {kommos)  of  actor  and 
chorus.  The  lyric  metres  which,  in  the  original  and 
in  any  adequate  translation,  distinguish  the  odes  and 
stage  lyrics,  are  also  a  signal  that  these  parts  would  be 
sung,  and  not  recited.  Thus  Greek  tragedy  comes  to 
have  its  remarkable  power  of  breaking  at  any  point  from 
blank  verse  to  lyrics,  from  drama  to  opera,  and  back 
again;  all  these  transitions  reflecting  similar  transi- 
tions in  the  spirit  of  the  scene.  The  third  branch  of 
poetry,  Epic,  appears   in    the  Messenger's  Speeches: 

^  A  full  treatment  of  Greek  tragedy,  from  the  standpoint  of  general 
literature,  will  be  found  in  my  Ancient  Classical  Drama  (see  below, 
page  487). 

[1481 


CLASSICAL  EPIC  AND  TRAGEDY 

here  the  dramatic  passion  gives  place  for  a  time  to  the 
cooler  elaborateness  of  story.  In  certain  scenes  known 
as  Forensic  Contests  the  rhetoric  which  was  such  a  char- 
acteristic of  the  litigious  Athenians  is  allowed  full  play. 
Thus  all  the  three  forms  of  poetry,  and  the  spirit,  if  not 
the  form,  of  one  type  of  prose,  are  found  in  combination 
within  the  field  of  Greek  drama.  ^ 

Again,  Attic  tragedy  is  of  all  poetic  forms  the  most 
concentrated.  The  fixity  of  the  ancient  stage,  not  liter- 
ally, but  for  all  practical  purposes,  implied  that  there 
would  be  no  change  of  scene ;  thus  the  story,  the  whole- 
ness of  which  was  necessary  for  intelligibility,  had  to  be 
focussed  upon  a  single  one  of  its  component  incidents ; 
only  this  incident  would  have  the  emphasis  of  direct 
presentation,  all  the  rest  of  the  matter  being  given  in- 
directly by  narration  or  allusion.  A  most  singular  lit- 
erary product,  again,  is  the  tragic  Chorus.  This  is  not, 
what  the  word  suggests  to  modern  ears,  a  mere  body  of 
artists  who  perform  lyric  poetry.  The  Chorus  have  a 
personality  drawn  from  the  particular  story  that  is 
being  dramatized,  in  which  they  appear  as  bystanders, 
sympathizers,  minor  actors :  this  personality  is  never 
lost,  and  enters  into  all  the  Chorus  say  or  do.  This 
Chorus  is  further  a  curious  link  between  the  play  and  the 
audience  who  witness  it.  They  have  been  humorously 
compared  to  the  gentlemen  who  go  on  the  stage  at  the 
request  of  a  conjurer,  at  once  a  part  of  the  audience  and 
a  part  of  the  show :  so  the  Chorus  of  a  tragedy,  enacting 
their  role  of  bystanders  in  the  scenes,  are  also  in  their 

1  For  full  treatment  of  the  subject  of  this  and  the  following  para- 
graph compare  Chapter  III  of  The  Ancient  Classical  Drama. 

[149] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

utterances  and  action  made  to  voice  the  impressions 
which  each  part  of  the  action  is  intended  to  make  upon 
the  audience  in  the  theatre.  With  all  this  it  must  be 
remembered  that  the  performance  of  a  tragedy  was  a 
solemn  religious  service :  the ''Chorus"  corresponded  to 
the  ''choir"  that  leads  the  meditations  of  a  modern  con- 
gregation, while  the  dramatic  scenes  offered  a  sermon 
which  was  acted  instead  of  being  declaimed.  And  the 
congregation  which  assisted  at  such  a  service  was  noth- 
ing less  than  the  whole  city,  which  in  Greek  life  means 
the  whole  people.  The  total  significance  of  all  this  is 
that,  in  a  Greek  tragedy,  we  have  the  public  conscience 
of  a  community  carried  dramatically  through  the  suc- 
cessive phases  of  a  poetic  story. 

The  different  tragedies  have  their  various  dramatic 
motives.  But  one  motive  belonging  to  Greek  tragedy 
as  a  whole  is  the  worship  of  Destiny.^  In  such  a 
poem  as  the  Iliad  the  supreme  power  in  the  universe 
appears  to  be  the  personal  will  of  Zeus :  in  tragedy  the 
supreme  power  is  the  inscrutable  force  of  Destiny. 
The  great  dramatic  effect  of  irony  is  the  irresistibility 
of  this  Destiny,  which  mocks  human  opposition,  or 
uses  it  as  a  means  of  fulfilling  itself.  There  is  no  con- 
tradiction between  this  and  the  Deus  ex  machina,  with 
which  so  many  tragedies  conclude ;  in  such  Di\dne 
Interventions  the  Deity  appears,  not  as  Fate,  but  as 
the  announcer  of  Fate.  There  is,  however,  a  certain 
wavering  in  Greek  tragedy  between  the  conceptions  of 
Destiny  and  Deity ;  and  this  wavering  finds  expression 
in  the  dramas  themselves. 

^  Compare  Ancient  Classical  Drama,  pages  93-109. 
[150] 


CLASSICAL  EPIC  AND  TRAGEDY 

0  Jove,  that  rulest  the  rolling  of  the  earth, 
And  o'er  it  hast  thy  throne :  whate'er  thou  art, 
The  ruling  mind,  or  the  necessity 
Of  nature,  I  adore  thee.     Dark  thy  ways, 
And  silent  are  thy  steps :  to  mortal  men 
Yet  thou  with  justice  all  things  dost  ordain. 

Revelation  in  this  religion  of  Destiny  takes  the  form  of 
oracles,  as  inscrutable  as  Destiny  itself;  hence  the 
oracular  action  of  a  drama,  by  which  the  movement 
of  events  is  from  mystery  to  clearness,  from  the  oracle 
to  its  inevitable  fulfilment.  The  revelation  is  in 
oracles  so  called,  or  in  prophecy  and  visions ;  or  we 
have  omens,  as  momentary  accidents  foreshadowing 
Destiny.  Or  again,  there  seems  to  be  a  supreme  reve- 
lation of  Destiny  in  the  Erinnyes,  or  Furies,  who  play 
such  a  part  in  ^schylus's  trilogy;  these  appear  as 
objective  beings,  avenging  unnatural  crimes,  or  sub- 
jectively, as  the  frenzy  leading  a  sinner  on  to  his  doom, 
the  fate  that  haunts  successive  generations  of  the 
House  of  Atreus.  The  special  religion  of  Destiny  has  a 
correlative  in  a  special  type  of  conscience  —  the  awe- 
struck caution  that,  in  so  inscrutable  a  universe,  fears 
to  move  to  the  right  or  to  the  left :  such  religious  cau- 
tion is  ever  the  dominant  note  of  a  Greek  Chorus, 

The  production  of  Greek  tragedies  falls  within  a  short 
period,  as  measured  by  years :  the  three  tragedians 
were  contemporaries,  ^Eschylus  being  half  a  generation 
older  than  the  other  two.  But  history  travelled  fast 
under  the  supremacy  of  Athens,  and  Euripides  seems 
to  belong  to  a  different  era  of  thought  from  that  of 
iEschylus  and   Sophocles.     This   will   be   abundantly 

1151] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

manifest  in  the  different  treatment  of  his  subject-matter 
by  Euripides,  as  compared  with  the  treatment  in  other 
tragedies.  Such  differences  belong  naturally  to  the 
literary  scheme  of  this  chapter,  which  includes  the 
thinking  of  successive  epochs  brought  to  bear  upon  a 
common  tradition.  I  allude  to  this  only  to  add  the 
remark,  for  the  benefit  of  readers  who  may  be  less 
familiar  with  Greek  literature,  that  Euripides  is  the 
centre  of  a  fierce  literary  controversy,  which  has  con- 
tinued from  the  poet's  own  times  to  our  own;  and 
which  will  probably  continue  forever,  since  it  involves 
a  fundamental  difference,  in  the  minds  of  his  readers, 
between  those  whose  sympathies  are  with  a  fixed  and 
harmonious  type  of  art,  and  those  who  are  attracted 
to  the  art  which  admits  disturbing  elements  inseparable 
from  mental  progress.  From  our  standpoint  of  world 
literature  all  this  gives  added  importance  to  Euripides. 
It  is  hardly  too  much  to  say  that  in  Euripides  we  have 
the  very  centre  of  literary  history :  his  dramas  seem 
to  give  us  the  spirit  of  modem  times  beginning  to  work 
in  the  field  of  Greek  life.^ 

VI 

With  Virgil  we  are  in  the  realm  of  artificial  poetry. 
We  have  travelled  far  from  our  starting-point,  the 
rhapsodist  in  an  age  of  song,  inspired  to  give  fresh 
currency  to  poetic  conventions  familiar  to  all  around 
him.  We  now  have  a  scholarly  poet,  writing  for  a 
circle  of  cultured  readers.     And  the  culture  is  Greek 

^  Compare  Ancient  Classical  Drama,  page  160,  and  following 
pages. 

[152] 


CLASSICAL  EPIC  AND  TRAGEDY 

culture.  Few  things  in  history  are  more  interesting 
than  the  mutual  relations  of  Greece  and  Rome.  In 
matters  of  the  outer  world  the  two  civilizations  are 
distinct,  not  to  say  antagonistic ;  time  moreover  has 
tested  them,  and  it  is  Roman  civilization  that  has 
dominated  the  world,  with  Greece  as  one  of  its  subject 
peoples.  But  in  the  world  of  mind  and  art  Greece  has 
subdued  Rome.  There  is  evidence  of  literary  capacity 
in  the  Latin  language,  and  those  who  take  interest  in 
what  might  have  been  may  speculate  as  to  what  an 
original  Latin  literature  might  have  been  under  other 
conditions.  As  a  fact,  just  when  the  Roman  genius 
is  opening  to  the  higher  reaches  of  thought  and  art,  it 
finds  itself  confronted  by  the  fully  developed  literature 
of  Greece :  the  Roman  genius  falls  under  the  spell  of 
Greece,  and  Latin  merges  itself  forever  in  Greek  cul- 
ture. To  the  Roman,  philosophy  meant  Greek  phi- 
losophy ;  the  spirit  of  Cicero's  writings  is  a  delighted 
recognition  that  the  thoughts  of  the  Greeks  can  be 
conveyed  in  Latin  terms.  So  to  Virgil's  age  poetry 
means  Greek  poetry.  To  borrow  Conington's  felicitous 
expression,  classical  poetry  has  become  a  ''second 
nature"  ;  faithfully  to  reproduce  this  takes  the  place  of 
fidelity  to  the  actual  nature  that  we  see  around  us. 
Yet  to  say  all  this  is  not  to  make  Virgil  an  imitator. 
As  remarked  before,  classical  echoing  is  something 
different  from  imitation  :  it  implies  some  recognition  of 
older  material  that  is  also  a  modification.  In  the  case 
before  us  there  is  something  more  than  this.  Virgil 
is  conscious  of  a  theme  and  subject-matter  far  vaster, 
it  must  seem  to  him,  than  anything  Greece  has  to  offer. 

[153] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

The  Homeric  iEneas  is  not  the  theme  of  Virgil's  poem, 
but  only  a  link  of  connection.  The  hero  of  the  JEneid 
is  Rome  itself :  Rome  as  mistress  of  the  world,  holding 
in  her  hands  the  destinies  of  the  nations.  What  the 
Caesars  have  done  for  Rome  in  the  world  without, 
Virgil  is  to  do  for  it  in  the  world  of  poetry.  The  roots 
of  Rome's  career  are  to  be  transplanted  into  the  field 
of  Greek  imaginative  poetry,  that  poetry  which  is  at 
the  same  time  history.  More  than  this,  all  that  is 
implied  in  Rome  and  things  Roman  must  be  brought 
into  reconciliation  and  harmony  with  all  that  stands 
as  part  of  the  familiar  world  of  Greek  poetry ;  and  the 
Roman  element,  in  being  reconciled  to  the  Greek,  must 
also  be  seen  to  dominate  it. 

When  we  thus  catch  the  general  spirit  of  Virgil's 
epic,  it  is  not  difficult  to  formulate  its  plot  and  move- 
ment. 

Plot  of  the  Mneid 

Main  Action :   Destiny  of  the  Roman  People  working  through  the 
agency  of  Pious  ^Eneas :  a  Chain  of  Oracles  harmonizing 
Grecian  and  Italian  Antiquities 
Complicating  Action :  Hostility  of  Juno 
Resolving  Action :  Protection  of  Venus 

Episodic  Underplot  of  Love :  Dido  and  ^neas 

It  is  in  ^neas,  as  representing  Rome  and  her  destinies, 
that  the  action  of  the  poem  finds  its  wholeness  and 
unity.  In  the  working  out  of  this  main  action  there  is 
room  for  an  echo  from  the  Odyssey :  once  more  we  have 
a  complication  under  control  of  one  deity,  the  resolution 

[154] 


CLASSICAL  EPIC  AND  TRAGEDY 

under  control  of  another.  Again,  the  Odyssey  had  an 
underplot  of  domestic  life  running  side  by  side  with  the 
main  interest ;  here  we  have  an  underplot  of  love,  but 
the  underplot  is  a  single  episode,  the  love  of  Dido  and 
^neas,  which  interrupts  the  course  of  the  main  action, 
until  its  violent  end  allows  Destiny  to  resume  its  sway. 
There  seems  no  need  to  find  any  place  in  the  scheme 
of  plot  for  secondary  stories.  It  is  true  that  poetic 
interest  has  become  not  less  but  more  various :  in 
variety  of  appeal  to  our  sympathies  the  Mneid  ap- 
proaches modern  poetry  of  romance.  We  have  the 
episode  of  Nisus  and  Euryalus,  with  its  tender  tie 
between  age  and  youth;  we  have  the  giant  brethren 
dying  in  defence  of  the  gate ;  we  have  Pallas,  the  gift 
of  the  shepherd  king  to  ^neas,  struck  down  in  the  first 
flower  of  youth ;  we  have  the  episode  of  Camilla  as  the 
maiden  huntress  of  Diana's  train  drawn  into  the  rude 
struggles  of  war.  All  these  are  elaborated  as  stories 
with  an  independent  interest  of  their  own.  But  the 
control  of  form  over  matter  has  also  strengthened : 
these  episodes  at  no  point  diverge  from  the  course  of 
events,  but  fall  into  place  as  so  many  details  in  the 
main  action. 

When  we  turn  to  the  movement  of  the  poem,  we  see 
at  once  a  parallel  to  the  Odyssey  in  the  foreshortening 
of  the  story :  in  both  poems  the  hero's  narrative  at  a 
banquet  takes  us  back  to  the  real  commencement  of 
the  action.  But  the  main  motive  form  of  the  ^Eneid 
is  one  borrowed  from  Greek  tragedy.  A  natural  ten- 
dency of  plot  is  from  the  simple  to  the  complex.  But 
in  Greek  drama  this  tendency  would  run  counter  to 

11551 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

the  stage  limitations  we  call  the  unities ;  to  have  side 
by  side  two  different  interests,  centring  around  two 
different  personages,  would  violate  the  unity  of  story. 
A  solution  is  found  in  a  form  of  movement  that  may 
be  called  Agglutination :  the  two  interests  are  made, 
not  parallel,  but  successive,  the  second  beginning  where 
the  first  ends;  and  the  two  belong  to  the  same  per- 
sonage. A  clear  example  of  this  is  seen  in  the  Electra 
of  Euripides.  The  first  half  of  the  plot  is  filled  with  the 
meeting  of  Electra  and  Orestes :  their  mutual  recog- 
nition is  artificially  obstructed,  and  then  suddenly 
effected ;  such  complication  and  resolution  give  us  the 
essentials  of  a  complete  plot,  and  the  drama  might 
have  ended  here,  with  the  vengeance  upon  the  common 
enemy  thrown  in  as  a  final  detail.  But  instead  of  this 
the  situation  recomplicates  itself,  in  the  necessity  of 
two  elaborate  intrigues  for  separate  vengeance  upon 
^gisthus  and  Clytaemnestra ;  only  when  this  new  com- 
plication has  found  its  resolution  do  we  reach  the 
finale.  A  similar  agglutinative  movement  belongs  to 
the  Mneid;  and  this  type  of  structiu-e  gives  the  poet 
an  opportunity  of  making  the  two  halves  of  his  poem 
reflect  separately  the  two  great  epics  of  Greece. 

Movement  of  the  jEneid 

Agglutinative  Movement,  with  common  Complication  and  Resolu- 
tion 
First  Half :  Epic  Action  of  Adventure :   Exploring  a  Site  for 

Rome :  echoing  the  Odyssey 
Second  Half :  Epic  Action  of  War :   Conflict  of  Turnus  and 
iEneas :  echoing  the  Iliad 
[156] 


CLASSICAL  EPIC  AND  TRAGEDY 

With  the  conscious  art  that  distinguishes  Virgil,  we 
have  a  recognition  of  this  twofold  structure  in  the 
poem  itself:  as  he  passes  to  the  second  half  of  the 
action  there  is  a  fresh  invocation  of  the  Muses,  and, 
apparently,  a  suggestion  of  war  as  a  more  exalted  mo- 
tive than  adventure :  — 

A  loftier  task  the  bard  essays : 
The  horizon  broadens  on  his  gaze. 

It  is  only  when  we  follow  the  poem  into  all  its  details 
that  we  can  do  full  justice  to  the  main  action,  as  an 
attempt  to  plant  Roman  antiquities,  small  and  great, 
in  the  field  of  Greek  poetic  tradition.  The  main  crisis 
in  the  history  of  Rome  was  its  struggle  with  Carthage 
for  very  existence  :  the  idea  of  this  is  made  the  founda- 
tion for  the  antagonism  of  Juno,  which  is  the  complica- 
tion of  the  plot ;  a  temporary  cessation  of  this  antago- 
nism, with  Rome  and  Carthage  made  one  by  marriage 
of  iEneas  and  Dido,  is  the  foundation  for  the  episodic 
underplot.  Three  times  over,  in  different  parts  of  the 
^neid,  we  have  the  whole  history  of  Rome  sketched  in 
prophetic  foreshadowing :  we  find  this  in  Jove's  first 
unfolding  of  fate  to  Venus;  we  have  it  again  in  the 
conversation  between  ^neas  and  his  father  in  the 
Elysian  Fields ;  once  again,  when  sculptured  armor  is 
forged  in  heaven  for  the  Trojan  hero,  this  obvious  echo 
from  the  Iliad  is  varied  to  make  the  details  of  the 
sculpture  prophetic.  In  the  catalogues  of  allies  who 
take  sides  in  the  war,  and  elsewhere,  we  have  various 
portions  of  Italy,  or  various  Italian  peoples  —  Latium, 
CEnotria,  Ausonia,  Etruria,  the  Sabines,  the  Rutules  — 

[157] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

all  treated  in  accordance  with  the  parts  these  played  in 
Roman  history.  Great  institutions  of  Rome  —  the 
Alban  Games,  the  Temple  of  Janus,  the  Altar  of 
Evander  by  the  Aventine  Hill,  the  Salian  minstrel- 
priests  —  find  their  origin  in  the  course  of  the  poem. 
The  Tarpeian  Rock,  the  site  of  the  Forum,  appear  in 
their  original  moss-covered  simplicity;  objects  as 
familiar  to  a  Roman  as  Cheapside  or  Hyde  Park  to  a 
Londoner,  or  again  small  points  of  Italian  geography 
or  popular  custom  such  as  would  need  an  expert 
antiquarian  to  particularize,  are  just  touched  by  the 
movement  of  the  poem  as  it  proceeds.  But  there  is 
more  than  this.  Troy  in  Greek  epic  is  the  beaten 
party,  and  ^neas  is  brought  a  fugitive  to  Italy :  shall 
the  majesty  of  Rome  spring  from  the  leavings  of  Greek 
conquest?  To  meet  this  difficulty,  Italy  and  the  site 
of  Rome  are  made  the  fountainhead  of  that  Dardan 
race  from  which  Troy  had  been  only  a  colony ;  more- 
over, the  rise  of  Rome  is  made,  in  the  counsels  of  fate, 
Troy's  return  match  against  Greece,  by  which  it  is 
'Ho  quit  itself  on  the  Myrmidons  and  Argives."  In  the 
early  part  of  the  action,  a  Trojan  prince  is  already  seen 
ruling  over  a  Greek  land.  In  the  middle,  the  Arcadians 
—  not  only  a  Grecian  people,  but  a  people  whose  very 
name  suggests  the  age  of  gold  —  come  forward  as  chief 
allies  of  ^neas.  And  in  the  end,  Diomedes,  supreme 
foe  of  Troy  in  the  Iliad,  is  sought  in  vain  by  Turnus 
as  an  ally :  his  answer  is  that  all  who  once  opposed 
Troy  have  been  visited  by  fate  with  penal  woes.  One 
other  point  must  be  noted  in  this  connection.  It  is 
before  the  age  of  comparative  philology :   what  to  us 

[158] 


CLASSICAL  EPIC  AND  TRAGEDY 

might  seem  the  easiest  obstacle  to  overcome  in  the 
reconciliation  of  Grecian  and  Roman  would  to  Virgil's 
age  seem  the  most  difficult  —  the  difference  of  lan- 
guage. This  difficulty  is  solved  at  a  stroke.  For 
twelve  books  Juno  has  maintained  her  antagonism, 
and  Jove  is  making  one  more  appeal  to  her  to  let  fate 
take  its  course.  Juno  takes  refuge  in  a  compromise : 
she  will  withdraw  her  opposition  to  the  Trojan  domina- 
tion of  Italy  if  only  the  Italians  may  retain  their  own 
language.  The  compromise  is  accepted,  and  the  action 
reaches  its  conclusion. 

It  is  not  Rome  merely,  but  Rome  as  the  world's  fate, 
that  is  the  inspiration  of  the  poem:  hence  Destiny 
becomes  a  leading  motive  of  the  jEneid.  From  tragedy 
it  draws  the  oracular  coloring  of  the  main  action;  a 
chain  of  oracles  runs  through  the  whole  movement, 
mystery  heaped  on  mystery,  until  at  last  mystery 
becomes  clearness  as  the  oracles  all  agree.  At  the  point 
where  the  action  begins  in  the  fall  of  Troy,  Hector,  in 
^neas's  dream,  bids  him  carry  the  Penates  ''beyond 
the  seas."  The  encircling  of  young  lulus  with  super- 
natural fire  removes  the  scruples  of  Anchises;  the 
spectre  of  Creusa  gives  supernatural  assurance  of 
refuge  ''in  the  land  of  the  West."  When  the  fugitives 
make  their  first  attempt  to  settle  in  Thrace,  the  portent 
of  the  bleeding  tree  and  the  voice  of  the  murdered 
Polydore  bid  them  fly  the  curst  soil.  They  seek  the 
oracle  of  Ortygia,  and  receive  the  response  that  they 
must  go  "where  first  their  nation  came  to  birth"; 
Anchises  as  depository  of  venerable  tradition  inter- 
prets this  of  Crete,  from  which  had  come  Teucer  and 

[159  1 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

the  name  of  Mount  Ida.  The  Trojans  begin  a  Per- 
gamia  in  Crete,  but  the  plague  appears  to  forbid.  In 
their  perplexity  the  Penates  come  to  life,  and,  as 
spokesmen  for  Apollo,  make  known  that  ''the  land  of 
the  West"  has  now  "Italy"  for  its  name;  Anchises 
recognizes  the  source  of  his  misinterpretation,  and  how 
the  oracular  doom  of  Cassandra  to  be  doubted  has  once 
more  fulfilled  itself.  Proceeding  westwards,  the  Tro- 
jans are  driven  by  a  storm  to  the  Isles  of  the  Stroph- 
ades :  there  the  loathsome  Harpy  speaks  a  word  of 
doom,  that  in  the  Italy  they  are  seeking  "they  shall 
eat  their  very  boards  for  bread."  Helenus,  the  Trojan 
prophet-prince,  is  encountered ;  he  speaks  oracles,  but 
confessedly  imperfect  oracles,  since  Fate  holds  him 
back;  it  now  appears  that,  not  the  neighboring  Italy, 
but  a  distant  Italy,  is  their  fated  goal,  while  a  long  train 
of  dangers  line  their  route.  When  the  Trojans  are 
plunged  in  trouble  by  the  burning  of  their  ships,  the 
apparition  of  Anchises  points  to  the  Sybil  as  the  source 
of  fresh  prophecies;  amidst  mystic  wonders  the 
Sybil  speaks  oracles,  telling  of  worse  horrors  on  land 
than  those  they  have  endured  on  the  sea,  of  war  and  a 
new  Achilles  and,  mysteriously,  of  help  from  a  Grecian 
city  and  a  foreign  bride.  Mystery  is  at  its  height; 
but,  as  we  pass  the  turning-point  of  the  poem,  mystery 
comes  to  solve  mystery,  and  new  oracles  explain  the 
old.  It  is  to  the  men  of  Italy  that  the  word  of  fate 
now  comes :  the  cluster  of  bees  on  the  Delphian  laurel 
is  interpreted  of  a  foreign  host ;  Lavinia  is  illuminated 
with  supernatural  flame,  as  before  was  lulus;  when 
the  oracle  in  the  Temple  of  Faunus  bids  the  Latins 

[160] 


CLASSICAL  EPIC  AND  TRAGEDY 

look  for  a  foreign  bridegroom,  two  of  the  oracles  have 
become  harmonized  in  one.  As  the  Trojans  alight  on 
Italian  soil  and  prepare  their  first  meal,  the  horror  of 
eating  boards  for  bread  dissolves  into  a  jest.  ^Eneas, 
sleeping  on  the  very  site  of  the  future  city,  sees  the 
apparition  of  the  River  God,  who  confirms  the  choice 
of  the  spot,  and  points  to  the  Arcadians  as  the  Grecian 
people  fated  to  help.  When,  in  obedience  to  this  word, 
the  Trojans  visit  the  Arcadians,  they  find  that  oracles 
have  already  prepared  their  way:  by  the  side  of  the 
Arcadians  are  the  powerful  people  the  Etruscans, 
seeking  on  their  own  account  vengeance  on  the  foes  of 
iEneas,  waiting  only  for  the  "foreign  leader"  whom 
fate  has  bidden  them  expect,  and  who  is  there  in  the 
person  of  ^Eneas.  All  the  words  of  fate  have  now 
resolved  into  one.  And  it  is  at  this  point  that  the 
miraculous  armor  descends  from  heaven :  in  its  pro- 
phetic blazonry  the  fated  glory  of  the  Trojan  cause 
spreads  into  the  far  future. 

In  yet  another  way  the  Destiny  motive  enters  into 
the  poem.  In  the  Odyssey  the  personality  of  the  hero 
is  kept  prominent  by  the  reiteration  of  the  single 
epithet  —  the  man  of  resource.  So  throughout  the 
Mneid  we  have  reiteration  of  the  "pious  ^Eneas." 
The  word  is  apt  to  jar  upon  the  modern  ear ;  but  the 
translator,  surely,  ought  to  retain  the  word,  and  leave 
the  course  of  the  action  to  bring  out  in  what  this 
Roman  piety  consists.  Obviously,  all  modern  asso- 
ciations with  the  piety  of  an  inner  life  are  here  out  of 
place :  whatever  else  the  word  may  mean,  it  describes 
the  attitude  of  ^Eneas  to  Rome.     This  is  not  patriotism 

M  [  161  1 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

in  the  Greek  sense,  which  was  local  patriotism ;  nor 
is  it  the  modern  patriotism  of  loyalty  to  nation  or 
country  or  king.  Rome  is  independent  of  dynasty, 
of  race  or  geographical  distinctions.  Rome  presents 
itself  to  our  mind  as  a  sublime  Institution  :  its  unit,  the 
household ;  its  climax,  world  empire.  The  symbol 
of  this  Institution  is  the  Penates :  if  the  etymology  of 
the  word  makes  this  "the  spirit  of  indoors,"  yet  we 
must  remember  that,  as  there  were  Penates  for  each 
household,  so  there  were  Penates  for  all  Rome.  Insti- 
tutional loyalty  of  this  type  makes  the  hero  of  this 
poem.  But  there  is  something  more  in  the  word  than 
this :  it  suggests  sensitiveness  to  Destiny.  The  open- 
ing lines  introduce  ^neas  as  fato  profugus  —  a  fugitive 
with  Destiny  at  his  back.  And  throughout  every  part 
of  the  action  the  first  instinct  of  iEneas  is  to  catch  the 
finger-pointing  of  fate.  This  idea  helps  us  over  the 
greatest  difficulty  of  the  poem.  By  the  combined 
power  of  Juno  and  Venus  ^neas  has  been  turned 
from  his  course,  and  entangled  in  a  passion  for  Dido : 
Fate  speaks  a  decisive  word,  and  ^Eneas  forces  himself 
to  desert  his  love  and  return  where  Destiny  points. 
The  situation  is  like  the  most  intense  situation  of  Greek 
tragedy,  in  which  Orestes  is  helpless  between  the  Deity 
who  forces  him  to  commit  the  act  of  vengeance  and 
Destiny  which  crushes  him  for  obeying.  To  the 
modern  reader  Destiny  is  an  unthinkable  idea :  his 
sympathies  are  all  on  the  side  of  Dido.  But  at  least 
the  "piety"  of  ^Eneas  is  consistent  with  itself:  at  the 
cost  even  of  his  honor  ^neas  is  true  to  the  Destiny  of 
Rome. 

[162] 


CLASSICAL  EPIC  AND  TRAGEDY 

This  j^neid  of  Virgil  stands  last  in  the  scheme  of 
classical  poetry  which  has  been  the  subject  of  the  present 
chapter.  In  a  sense,  it  may  be  said  to  concentrate  the 
whole  scheme  in  itself.  By  the  constructive  skill  of  a 
supreme  artist,  combined  with  a  double  portion  of  the 
spirit  of  classical  echoing,  a  complete  link  has  been 
forged  between  Greek  and  Latin  poetry.  And  this 
same  Virgil  stands  to  the  Middle  Ages  as  the  repre- 
sentative of  all  that  is  classical.  So  far  on  in  time  as 
Spenser's  Faerie  Queene  it  still  seems  natural  for 
Britain,  or  any  other  European  country,  to  seek  for 
itself  a  poetic  origin  by  a  link  with  the  dispersal  from 
Troy  such  as  that  which  brought  iEneas  to  found 
Rome.  In  the  centuries  which  immediately  followed 
Virgil  the  world  was  being  both  materially  and  morally 
transformed ;  new  poetic  forces  were  gathering,  which 
would  in  time  build  up  an  entirely  new  age  of  litera- 
ture. Yet  nothing  could  shake  the  firm  foundations  of 
classical  poetry,  in  which  the  echoing  of  tradition  was 
the  supreme  law.  When,  finally,  the  Middle  Ages 
became  strong  enough  for  a  supreme  effort,  which 
should  embody  in  the  form  of  epic  poetry  the  new 
religion  and  the  whole  of  mediaeval  thought,  it  is  Virgil 
who  is  chosen  as  the  poet's  mentor.  Virgil  is  to  Dante 
the  representative  of  the  highest  point  to  which  human 
wisdom  can  rise,  short  of  that  consummation  in  the 
Christian  Paradise  which  only  One  of  the  Blessed  can 
unfold. 


[163 


CHAPTER  III 

THE    FIVE   LITEKARY   BIBLES 

Shakesyeare 

NO  one  needs  to  be  persuaded  into  the  reading  of 
Shakespeare.  Of  all  the  world's  authors  he  has 
had  the  most  universal  recognition.  The  schoolboy 
finds  time  for  Shakespeare  sandwiched  in  between  his 
Virgil  and  his  algebra ;  the  schoolgirl  longs  for  a  cos- 
tume part  in  Midsummer  Night's  Dream;  their  younger 
brothers  and  sisters  have  probably  had  Lambs'  Tales 
read  to  them.  The  popular  reciter  makes  his  debut 
in  Shakespeare;  the  theatre  manager  would  play  him 
every  season,  if  finances  would  permit ;  the  actor's 
highest  ambition  is  a  Shakespearean  role.  Exact 
scholarship  is  ready  to  devote  a  life-work  to  this  one 
topic ;  libraries  prepare  large  sections  for  Shake- 
speareana;  birthday  books  thrive  on  him ;  the  pulpit, 
the  lecture  platform,  the  magazine  or  leading  article 
freely  quote  him ;  the  most  frivolous  diner-out  takes 
pains  to  conceal  how  little  he  knows  of  him.  American 
universities  and  colleges  give  Shakespeare  a  front  place 
in  their  studies  ;  German  universities  make  him  almost 
a  branch  of  philosophy;  English  universities  edit, 
annotate,  and  examine  in  Shakespeare.     The  greatest 

[164] 


SHAKESPEARE 

French  poet  of  the  nineteenth  century  devoted  himself 
to  exaltation  of  Shakespearean  conceptions  of  poetry; 
most  European  languages  have  naturalized  the  plays 
in  translation.  I  suppose  no  one  ever  framed  a  scheme 
of  general  literary  study  from  which  Shakespeare  was 
omitted. 

The  natural  corollary  from  all  this  would  seem  to  be 
that  the  reader  of  this  book  might  have  been  spared 
the  present  chapter;  more  particularly,  as  the  author 
has  had  his  say  on  Shakespeare  in  two  lengthy  volumes. 
Yet  a  brief  discussion  seems  to  be  called  for  in  order  to 
justify  the  particular  position  assigned  in  this  work 
to  Shakespeare  as  one  of  the  bibles  of  world  literature. 
It  may  be  asked,  How  can  the  writings  of  a  single 
author  be  said  to  cover  an  area  of  literature  sufficient 
to  justify  this  term?  The  answer  is  found  in  the 
peculiarly  central  position  of  Shakespeare :  central  in 
literary  history,  central  in  the  balance  of  qualities  that 
go  to  make  literature,  central  in  the  variety  of  readers 
this  particular  author  has  gathered  round  him.  The 
mountain  top  has  the  smallest  of  areas,  yet  in  a  way  the 
vastness  of  the  whole  mountain  region  belongs  to  it. 
If  Shakespeare  could  be  blotted  out  from  universal 
literature,  the  shrinkage  of  the  whole  field  would  re- 
quire that  our  map  of  poetry  must  be  completely  recast. 

It  has  become  a  commonplace  of  literature  that  its 
greatness  in  any  individual  case  involves  a  combination 
of  the  man  and  the  moment.  This  applies  with  im- 
mense force  to  Shakespeare.  We  have  an  individuality 
in  which  all  the  separate  elements  that  make  poetry 
have  for  once  been  combined.    And  the  poet  has  been 

[165] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

projected  upon  a  moment  of  literary  history  just  cal- 
culated to  give  to  this  many-sided  individuality  the 
fullest  possible  scope. 

I  believe  in  a  science  of  literature,  that  traces  laws 
and  principles  underlying  literary  phenomena  as  other 
sciences  trace  laws  and  principles  underlying  external 
nature.  But  no  literary  science  will  have  validity 
that  does  not  give  full  recognition  to  the  individuality 
of  authors  as  an  element,  or,  if  the  reader  prefers,  a 
disturbing  accident,  of  literary  law.  The  psychology 
of  human  nature  in  general  can  use  laboratory  methods 
and  make  precise  statements ;  that  other  psychology 
concerned  with  the  distribution  of  mental  faculties 
amongst  particular  individuals  must  always  include  a 
considerable  element  of  what  will  appear  to  us  acci- 
dent. And  we  have  here  the  accident  that  brings  all 
the  powers  of  poetry  together  to  make  one  poet. 
Grasp  of  human  nature,  the  most  profound,  the  most 
subtle ;  responsiveness  to  emotion  throughout  its 
whole  scale,  from  tragic  pathos  to  rollicking  jollity, 
with  a  middle  range,  over  which  plays  a  humor  like  the 
innumerable  twinklings  of  a  laughing  ocean ;  powers  of 
imagination  so  instinctive  that  to  perceive  and  to 
create  seem  the  same  mental  act ;  a  sense  of  symmetry 
and  proportion  that  will  make  everything  it  touches 
into  art ;  mastery  of  language,  equally  powerful  for  the 
language  that  is  the  servant  of  thought  and  the  lan- 
guage that  is  a  beauty  in  itself;  familiarity  with  the 
particular  medium  of  dramatic  representation  so  prac- 
tised that  it  seems  a  misnomer  to  call  it  technique; 
an  ear  for  music  that  makes  the  rhythm  of  lyrics,  of 

[166] 


SHAKESPEARE 

rhjnne,  of  verse,  of  prose,  each  seem  natural  while  it 
lasts,  and  spontaneously  varies  these  rhythms  with 
every  varying  shade  of  thought :  all  these  separate 
elements  of  poetic  force,  any  one  of  which  in  con- 
spicuous degree  might  make  a  poet,  are  in  Shakespeare 
found  in  complete  combination.  This  sounds  unlikely, 
only  because  rarity  is  a  form  of  improbability;  yet, 
were  it  merely  a  question  of  mathematical  chances, 
given  the  whole  field  of  literature,  the  impossible  com- 
bination of  chances  may  occur.  That  there  is  this 
combination  of  powers  in  Shakespeare  we  may  perhaps 
best  realize  by  thinking  of  other  poets  who  are  distin- 
guished rather  by  special  qualities ;  recall  such  a  poet 
in  his  most  characteristic  passages  or  conceptions,  and 
I  venture  to  say  that  somewhere  in  the  field  of  Shake- 
spearean poetry  will  be  found  passages  or  conceptions 
that  will  stand  comparison  with  the  special  poet  in  his 
own  specialty.    , 

Or,  we  may  bring  home  to  ourselves  the  great  com- 
bination of  powers  in  Shakespeare  by  remembering 
how  long  it  has  taken  appreciation  to  catch  up  with 
the  poet.  No  doubt  from  the  beginning  there  have 
been  admirers  who  have  found  in  Shakespeare  the 
perfection  of  poetry.  But,  naturally,  it  has  been  other- 
wise with  criticism  that  was  committed  to  theories  of 
art :  the  history  of  criticism  upon  Shakespeare  has 
been  a  series  of  retreating  attacks.  The  Shakespearean 
Drama  was  magnificent,  but  it  was  not  drama ;  it  was 
not  regular;  it  was  not  this  or  that.  Time  has  tried 
the  pronouncements  of  the  critics,  and  to-day  our 
chief  interest  in  past  Shakespeare  criticism  is  that  we 

[167] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

turn  to  it  at  any  point  to  see  what  portion  of  literary- 
theory  was  about  to  become  obsolete.^  I  am  far  from 
saying  that  the  process  is  complete.  It  is  still  the 
fashion  to  examine  the  technical  art  of  Shakespeare 
with  analysis  borrowed  from  altogether  different  regions 
of  poetry,  as  if  to  use  straight  rules  for  measuring 
spherical  angles.^  It  seems  so  easy,  when  something 
is  found  that  is  not  obvious  in  its  purpose,  to  fall  back 
upon  the  theory  of  Shakespeare's  "irregular  genius," 
and  skip  the  passage  and  pass  on.  Yet  if  we  are 
willing  to  follow  our  poet  detail  by  detail,  with  the 
same  minuteness  and  fidelity  with  which  a  philologist 
follows  ancient  literature,  we  shall  find  Shakespeare  the 
revealing  genius  of  a  poetic  art,  more  complex  indeed 
than  any  that  has  preceded  it,  but  in  its  complexity 
as  full  of  symmetry,  as  reducible  to  form,  as  the  simpler 
poetry  from  which  our  notions  of  art  have  been  derived. 
It  must  be  added  that  not  only  do  we  find  in  Shake- 
speare all  the  elements  of  poetic  beauty  and  force  com- 
bined, but  we  find  them  combined  in  even  measure 
and  proporti(5n.  Accordingly,  whatever  Shakespeare 
achieves,  he  seems  to  achieve  with  "the  effortless 
strength  of  the  gods."  It  is  one  of  the  curiosities  of 
literature  that  this  very  ease  of  Shakespeare's  writing 
has  made  a  difficulty  for  Shakespeare  study:  great 
part  of  the  literary  world  will  not  be  persuaded  to  take 

1  This  is  fully  discussed  in  my  Shakespeare  as  a  Dramatic  Artist, 
pages  8-11,  17-21. 

^  The  inadequacy  to  Shakespeare  of  traditional  dramatic  tech- 
nique, and  the  necessity  of  a  different  conception  of  plot  analysis, 
is  fully  discussed  in  the  Appendix  to  my  Shakespeare  as  a  Dramatic 
Thinker  (below,  page  492). 

[168] 


SHAKESPEARE 

Shakespeare  seriously  enough.  A  tradition  of  him  has 
come  into  vogue  as  a  good  fellow  of  the  literary  world, 
whom  everybody  loves,  but  many  will  not  beheve 
that  one  who  has  been  such  a  bon  camarade  to  them 
can  really  be  the  exalted  personage  that  some  main- 
tain him  to  be.  Some  difference  surely  ought  to  be 
made  to  them  by  the  history  of  opinion,  and  the  steady 
set  of  its  current  in  the  direction  of  fuller  and  fuller 
appreciation  of  the  poet.  A  few  generations  ago,  it 
was  not  unusual  for  those  who  had  used  the  strongest 
language  to  express  the  greatness  of  Shakespeare  to 
add  that  of  course,  as  an  imperfectly  educated  man,  he 
was  faulty  in  his  grammar  and  expressions.  They  did 
not  live  to  see  the  time  when  scholars  of  front  rank 
would  devote  years  to  the  production  of  Shakespeare 
Lexicons  and  Shakespeare  Grammars,  bringing  out 
how  it  was  as  natural  for  Shakespearean  English  to 
differ  from  other  English,  as  for  Homeric  or  Hellenistic 
Greek  to  differ  from  Attic  Greek.  Or  again,  it  was  a 
widespread  idea  that,  whatever  else  this  poet  might 
be,  he  was  certainly  not  a  learned  man.  Yet  we  have 
seen  an  erudite  bishop  writing  a  treatise  to  show,  not 
only  Shakespeare's  intimate  knowledge  of  the  Bible, 
but  also  the  precision  of  his  references  to  matters  of 
systematic  theology;  a  Lord  Chancellor  of  England 
arguing,  from  internal  evidence,  that  the  author  of  the 
plays  must  have  had  a  conveyancer's  training;  Dr. 
Bucknill,  as  a  specialist  in  mental  disease,  convinced 
that  the  dramatist  must  have  been  an  experienced 
specialist  in  this  line;  a  thick  volume  bringing  out 
of  the  plays  an  expert's  knowledge  of  ornithology ;  in 

[169] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

fine,  every  one  who  has  a  specialty  seems  to  find  that 
Shakespeare  had  it  before  him.  We  are  driven  to 
revise  our  opinion  of  what  learning  may  be.  An 
ideally  learned  man  is  not  a  man  who  knows  every- 
thing —  that  is  a  schoolboy's  ideal  —  but  one  who 
instinctively  understands  exactly  how  far  he  must  know 
the  things  he  touches,  and  how  far  he  may  leave  knowl- 
edge of  them  to  the  specialists.  If  from  this  point  of 
view  we  compare  the  poet  with  the  prodigies  of  his 
day,  the  Ben  Jonsons  and  Bacons,  it  is  now  Shake- 
speare who  appears  the  learned  man,  Ben  Jonson  or 
Bacon  the  pedant. 

The  difficulty  of  fully  appreciating  Shakespeare  is 
further  enhanced  by  the  fact  that  we  get  no  help  in  this 
matter  from  biography.  Of  course  it  is  natural  to 
search  for  information  of  this  kind  in  all  directions,  to 
rake  together  the  embers  and  make  what  flame  we  can. 
And  I  do  not  undervalue  the  laborious  researches  of 
those  who  have  specialized  in  Shakespearean  antiqui- 
ties :  their  results  make  a  greater  total  of  knowledge 
about  the  poet's  life  than  general  readers  recognize.  But 
when  all  is  said  and  done,  the  attempt  to  construct  a 
biography  of  Shakespeare  is  a  failure.  I  do  not  mean 
merely  that  what  has  been  ascertained  fails  to  explain 
the  plays ;  it  fails  to  give  us  any  personalitj^  at  all  that 
we  can  understand  and  know.  Such  a  situation  of  mys- 
tery has  proved  a  great  temptation  to  amateurs  of  the 
literary  world :  they  have  rushed  in  to  kick  away  the 
plank  of  known  facts,  and  plunge  into  speculation  as  to 
some  other  personality  that  might  be  put  in  Shake- 
speare's place.     They  do  not  seem  to  see  that  their  con- 

[170] 


SHAKESPEARE 

jectures,  even  if  they  had  foundation,  would  leave  the 
problem  just  as  great  a  problem  as  ever;  that  even 
Bacon  himself,  with  all  his  greatness,  is  yet  a  much  more 
limited  personality  than  the  personality  at  the  back  of 
the  Shakespearean  dramas.  Shakespearean  scholarship 
has  never  taken  such  discussions  seriously.  They  may 
have  brought  out  for  us  many  things :  as,  for  example, 
that  the  best  riddles  are  those  that  have  no  answer,  pro- 
longing indefinitely  the  interest  of  guessing ;  or  again, 
how  convincing  evidence  can  be,  if  only  cross-exam- 
ination is  kept  out  of  the  way ;  or  again,  how  poor  a 
thing  is  the  glimmer  of  ascertained  knowledge  in  com- 
parison with  the  fascinating  process  of  turning  a  search- 
light of  lago-like  suspiciousness  in  every  direction 
through  the  region  of  the  not-impossible.  Meanwhile 
the  poet  has  been  brought  no  nearer  to  us.  It  seems 
wiser  to  give  up  the  hope  of  explanation  from  the  bio- 
graphical source  that  will  reveal  the  many-sided  in- 
dividuality of  Shakespeare :  by  the  poet's  works  only 
do  we  know  him. 

We  are  on  surer  ground  when  we  go  on  to  the  second 
point,  that  Shakespeare  belongs  to  a  moment  of  literary 
history  such  as  presents  the  freest  field  for  the  realization 
of  all  his  many-sided  powers.  He  may  be  classified  as 
belonging  to  the  earlier  part  of  the  Renaissance.  The 
Renaissance  is  the  meeting-point  of  two  great  historic 
ages :  the  period  of  the  Middle  Ages,  reaching  its  cul- 
mination, is  confronted  with  the  age  of  Greek  and  Ro- 
man antiquity,  hitherto  dimly  known,  now  coming  with 
a  flood  of  light,  as  classical  literature  in  the  original 
languages  is  more  and  more  brought  to  the  attention 

1171] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

of  western  Europe.  Hellenic  antiquity  had  risen  to 
the  highest  elevation  of  thought  and  art.  The  Middle 
Ages,  viewed  from  our  standpoint,  seems  in  its  earlier 
course  to  present  society  as  lapsing  into  semibarbarism. 
Yet  to  the  Middle  Ages  belongs  the  consummate 
achievement  of  Gothic  architecture ;  it  has  given 
the  world  the  progressive  and  inexhaustible  art  of 
modern  music;  it  includes  the  most  subtle  of  all 
intellectual  eras,  the  age  of  the  schoolmen ;  in  the 
Middle  Ages  was  evolved  the  dominant  philosophy 
of  human  Hfe  that  is  latent  in  Christianity.  If 
the  term  "  Renaissance  "  be  extended  to  include  the 
whole  of  the  transition  from  mediaeval  to  modern, 
then  Shakespeare  belongs  to  a  time  when  this  Re- 
naissance is  still  incomplete.  But  the  meeting  of 
such  mighty  forces  as  mediaeval  and  ancient  thought 
must  inevitably  produce  conflict ;  with  conflict  come 
antagonisms ;  men  take  sides,  and,  for  a  time  at 
least,  there  is  a  narrowing  of  sympathies.  The  Hfe  of 
Shakespeare  falls  within  the  period  when  the  Renais- 
sance was  exerting  its  full  influence  in  the  stimulation 
of  thought  and  art,  and  before  the  time  of  the  great 
schisms  with  their  restraint  of  outlook. 

The  literary  product  of  Greek  and  Roman  antiquity 
is  known  as  classical ;  and  no  part  of  it  is  more  impor- 
tant than  classical  drama.  If  the  characteristic  litera- 
ture of  the  Middle  Ages  is  to  be  described  by  a  single 
term,  this  must  be  "  romance,"  the  word  being  made 
duly  elastic  to  serve  the  purpose.  Now,  the  depart- 
ment of  poetry  to  which  Shakespeare  makes  his  contri- 
butions is  the  Romantic  Drama  :  what  the  term  implies 

[172] 


SHAKESPEARE 

is  the  dramatization  of  romances.  We  see  two  elements 
of  a  great  combination,  and  the  influence  which,  in  part 
at  least,  served  to  bring  them  together.  The  romantic 
element  is  found  in  the  sources  of  Shakespeare's  plays. 
He  is  not  a  poet  of  the  type  of  Shelley  or  Philip  Bailey, 
who  evolve  out  of  their  inner  consciousness  purely  ideal 
worlds.  All  the  material  on  which  he  works  Shake- 
speare draws  from  the  story-books  of  romance ;  the  term 
of  course  includes  histories  —  the  chronicles  for  later 
times,  Plutarch  for  antiquity  —  which  the  thinking  of 
that  age  did  not  differentiate  from  stories.  The.  dra- 
matic element  was  the  new  interest  of  classical  drama. 
But  an  influence  can  be  seen  tending  to  bring  the  two 
together.  Unlike  some  other  types  of  Elizabethan 
drama,  Shakespeare's  was  distinctly  popular  poetry; 
and  the  people  for  whom  he  catered  was  a  populace 
trained  for  generations  by  the  Mediaeval  Drama  of  the 
Miracle  Play  and  its  offshoots.  This  Mediaeval  Drama 
was  the  dramatization  of  story,  the  realization  in  dra- 
matic scenes  of  the  sacred  stories  of  the  Bible  or  the 
saints.  In  the  same  way  the  Shakespearean  drama 
sought  to  realize  in  dramatic  form  the  popular  stories  of 
romance,  with  an  added  impetus  from  the  new  interest 
of  classical  drama. 

The  more  this  crystallization  of  literary  elements  is 
examined,  the  richer  will  seem  the  poetic  capacities  of 
the  product.  We  have  already  seen  how  important  for 
Homer  was  the  floating  poetry  which,  through  many 
generations,  was  accumulating  material  for  individual 
genius  to  work  upon.  But  the  Middle  Ages  was  a  far 
vaster  gathering  ground  of   literary  material.     In  its 

[173] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

earlier  centuries  floating  poetry  and  the  minstrel  re- 
appear ;  the  wandering  minstrels  carry  the  story  wealth 
of  each  people  to  all  other  peoples ;  to  this  there  is  the 
wealth  of  classical  story  to  be  added,  and  the  new  in- 
terest of  story  that  comes  with  diffusion  of  Christianity. 
No  doubt,  with  the  beginning  of  the  modern  Euro- 
pean languages  other  types  of  poetry  arise;  but  from 
first  to  last  the  dominant  popular  interest  is  narrated 
story,  in  which  there  is  nothing  to  interfere  with  ful- 
ness of  narration,  and  free  interchange  of  light  and 
shade.  And  such  is  the  content  of  the  story-books  of 
romance  from  which  Shakespeare  drew.  In  sharp  con- 
trast with  this  is  the  concentrated  poetry  of  classical 
drama,  in  which  the  interest  of  a  story  as  a  whole  was 
sacrificed  to  making  its  final  phase  dramatically  em- 
phatic. The  combination  of  the  two  elements  in  Shake- 
speare means  that  upon  the  inexhaustible  story  interest 
of  romance  the  concentrated  power  of  dramatic  em- 
phasis was  brought  to  play.  The  influence  of  the  audi- 
ence was  twofold  :  not  only  did  it  stand,  as  we  have  seen, 
for  the  dramatization  of  story,  but,  as  a  popular  audi- 
ence, it  insured  the  absence  of  all  critical  limitations 
such  as  had  by  fixed  principles  retarded  development  in 
Greek  drama.  And  there  is  yet  another  condition  of 
poetic  force  to  be  added.  If  life  is  to  be  presented  on  a 
large  scale,  the  picture  must  betray  the  philosophy  un- 
derlying human  experience;  however  highly  endowed 
in  other  respects  a  poet  may  be,  his  product  may  yet 
be  dwarfed  if  he  has  a  shallow  or  a  morbid  philosophy 
of  life.  It  is  only  necessary  to  compare  the  Shake- 
spearean with  the  ancient  drama  to  see  how  much  of 

[174] 


SHAKESPEARE 

force  was  brought  to  Shakespeare's  age  by  the  concep- 
tion of  human  life  embodied  in  Christianity.  The  Uter- 
ary  importance  of  Protestantism  does  not  consist  in  its 
theology,  but  in  the  fact  that  it  gives  free  course  to  the 
magnificent  literature  of  the  Bible.  For  Shakespeare 
this  influence  had  reached  its  full  power,  before  Prot- 
estantism began  to  stiffen  into  Puritanism,  with  its  nar- 
rowed views  and  final  hostility  to  all  sense  of  art. 

This  is  no  place  for  detailed  discussion  of  plays.^ 
But  a  moment's  consideration  given  to  fundamentals  of 
Shakespearean  art  will  confirm  the  view  of  its  limitless 
capacity  and  scope.  The  conception  of  plot  found  to  un- 
derlie Shakespearean  drama  may  be  formulated  thus : — 

Q,    ,  p,     .    (  (1)  a  federation  of  [classical]  unit-plots: 

( (2)  with  the  units  [romantically]  expanded. 

We  see  at  once  the  interaction  of  classical  and  romantic 
influences.  Shakespearean  dramas  are  obviously  har- 
monizations of  several  different  stories  in  a  single  dra- 
matic scheme,  any  one  of  these  stories,  abstracted  from 
the  rest,  affording  sufficient  material  for  a  complete  plot, 
as  plot  was  understood  in  classical  drama.  More  than 
this,  each  separate  story,  as  handled  by  Shakespeare, 
may  contrast  with  classical  treatment  of  story  in  that  it 
is  expanded  in  full  detail  from  beginning  to  end  by  the 
influence  of  romance.  To  put  this  graphically.  In  the 
subjoined  figure,  if  we  take  a  horizontal  line  to  indicate 

^  Plot  analysis,  on  the  principles  discussed  in  this  paragraph,  is 
applied  to  all  the  dramas  of  Shakespeare  in  my  Shakespeare  as  a 
Dramatic  Thinker  (below,  page  492). 

[175] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

succession  in  time,  and  a  vertical  line  to  indicate  variety 
in  place,  then  a  rectangle  will  symbolize  a  full  story,  which 
will  involve  a  succession  of  incidents  happening  in  a  va- 
riety of  places.     But  this  rectangle  must  be  modified  to 


A 


express  the  plot  of  a  classical  drama :  only  one  corner  of 
the  rectangle  (so  to  speak)  will  be  acted  on  the  stage,  a 
single  final  incident  in  a  single  scene ;  the  rest  of  the 
story  (as  represented  by  the  dotted  line)  must  be  left 
for  inference  and  indirect  suggestion.  But  the  stories 
entering  into  a  Shakespearean  plot  need  the  full  rectan- 
gle to  represent  them ;  with  Shakespeare's  multiplica- 
tion and  changes  of  scenes  the  whole  matter  of  the  story 
from  first  to  last  "wdll  appear,  or  as  much  of  this  as  is 
dramatically  effective.  A  figure  that  would  symboHze 
a  Shakespearean  plot  must  repre- 
sent several  such  rectangles  in 
some  scheme  of  relation,  as  so 
many  stories  fully  presented  on 
the  stage;  what  is  here  left  for 
inference  and  suggestion,  as  indi- 
cated by  the  dotted  circle,  is  the 
sense  of  harmony  embracing  these 
stories  and  making  them  into  a 
dramatic  whole.  No  conception  of  plot  could  offer  a 
larger  scope  for  the  varied  powers  of  a  poet. 

[176] 




y 

/ 

^^ 

/ 

/ 

\ 

\ 

' 

/ 

\ 

/ 

/ 

^-^ 

V 

SHAKESPEARE 

It  is  not  essential  to  the  argument,  but  it  is  an  interest- 
ing addition  to  it,  that  a  recognition  of  this  varied  capac- 
ity of  the  Shakespearean  drama  seems  conscious  on  the 
part  of  the  poet  himself.  There  is  no  need  to  urge  — 
what  is  no  doubt  true— that  the  classical  drama,  as  we 
know  it  in  the  hands  of  the  Greek  masters,  hardly 
reached  Shakespeare,  and  that  he  knew  it  only  in  the 
modified  form  of  Roman  drama.  The  point  is,  not  the 
direct  imitation  of  models,  but  the  awakening  effect  of 
the  contrast  between  classical  and  romantic  treatment. 
The  barest  conception  of  classical  concentration,  in 
contact  with  the  contrasting  interest  of  free  narrative 
in  romance,  must  awaken  a  sensitive  poetic  mind  to 
the  widest  variety  of  constructive  possibilities.  That 
Shakespeare's  mind  was  filled  with  ideas  of  this  kind 
is  sufficiently  evidenced  by  a  single  passage,  in  which 
he  puts  a  humorous  literary  catalogue  into  the  mouth 
of  his  Polonius :  — 

The  best  actors  in  the  world,  either  for  tragedy,  comedy,  history, 
pastoral,  pastoral-comical,  historical-pastoral,  tragical-historical, 
tragical-comical-historical-pastoral,  scene  individable,  or  poem  un- 
limited :  Seneca  cannot  be  too  heavy,  nor  Plautus  too  light.  For 
the  law  of  writ  and  the  liberty,  these  are  the  only  men. 

Here  we  see  the  mind  of  Shakespeare  alive  to  the  literary 
phantasmagoria  made  possible  by  the  jostling  together 
in  his  age  of  particular  types  of  drama  and  particular 
types  of  story.  He  has  caught  the  essential  distinction 
of  classical  and  romantic  in  his  phrase,  ''scene  individ- 
able, or  poem  unlimited."  Possibly,  though  not  neces- 
sarily, we  may  see  a  hint  of  the  mingling  of  serious  and 
light  matter  in  the  reference  to  Seneca  and  Plautus. 

N  [  177  ] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

Above  all,  Shakespeare  has  got  down  to  the  basic  idea 
of  literary  criticism,  "the  law  of  writ  and  the  liberty"  : 
an  idea  he  so  phrases  as  to  make  it  an  echo  of  the  funda- 
mental moral  issue  in  the  New  Testament  phrase  of 
''law  and  liberty."  And  Shakespeare  himself  takes  his 
stand  for  the  "liberty  of  writ" ;  he  has  elected  to  give 
free  play  to  his  myriad-sided  genius,  as  it  works  upon 
the  limitless  material  brought  to  him  by  the  reading 
taste  of  his  times.  • 


[178] 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE   FIVE   LITERARY   BIBLES 

Dante  and  Milton:   the  Epics  of  Medioeval  Catholicism 
and  Renaissance  Protestantism 

IN  constructing  a  scheme  of  world  literature  no  one,  I 
presume,  would  omit  Dante.  Yet  Dante's  great 
poem  gains  infinitely  if  it  be  read  in  antithesis  with  the 
Paradise  Lost  of  Milton.  It  is  no  comparison  of  merit 
that  I  have  in  mind.  Both  are  poets  of  the  highest 
order ;  master  minds,  with  whom  to  suggest  gradations  of 
rank  would  be  an  impertinence.  But  in  their  two  great 
works  these  poets  are  not  treating  special  themes ;  each 
is  giving  his  poetic  construction  of  the  sum  of  things  as 
seen  by  him.  And  each  is  fully  equipped  for  the  task. 
The  two  poems  then  will  differ  according  to  the  two 
ages  they  are  reflecting ;  and  these  two  ages  are  ances- 
tral periods  in  our  own  mental  history.  What  makes 
the  combination  of  the  Divine  Comedy  and  the  Paradise 
Lost  into  a  literary  bible  is  that  they  give  us  complete 
revelation  in  creative  poetry  of  supplementary  stages 
through  which  our  own  literary  evolution  has  passed ; 
they  enable  us  to  think  the  thoughts  of  the  men  of  those 
times,  to  look  upon  the  universe  with  their  mental  atti- 
tudes, to  live  over  again  for  a  moment  their  sympathies 

[179] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

and  antipathies,  to  shape  the  appearances  and  impres- 
sions of  things  as  these  seemed  to  eyes  that  at  the  time 
actually  looked  upon  them.  No  means  of  insight  into 
the  far  past  is  so  potent  as  creative  reflection,  where 
the  poetry  of  the  right  kind  is  to  be  had.  For  such  po- 
etry is  philosophy  raised  to  life.  All  that  the  apparatus 
of  scientific  and  philosophic  history  can  give  us  is  anat- 
omy and  physiology  applied  to  the  body  of  some  past 
era :  in  creative  poetry  we  are  in  contact  with  its  soul. 


Dante  is  the  prophet  of  the  Middle  Ages.  The  term 
is  often  used  negatively,  as  describing  a  period  in  rela- 
tion to  what  comes  before  and  after.  But,  as  we  have 
seen,  it  has  also  a  great  positive  significance ;  the  hazy 
outlines  of  the  Dark  Ages  at  last  took  form  as  a  mediaeval 
era  with  an  individuality  and  consciousness  of  its  own. 
Dante  came  at  just  the  right  moment  to  voice  that  con- 
sciousness. Had  he  lived  a  generation  earlier,  Dante 
might  still  have  said  much  that  he  has  said,  but  assur- 
edly he  would  have  said  it  in  Latin.  Had  he  lived  a 
generation  later,  we  must  think  that  questionings  and 
novel  problems  would  have  disturbed  the  serene  whole- 
ness of  the  ideas  he  shapes.  In  discussing  medisevalism 
in  the  Introduction  to  this  work  we  saw  that  three 
factors  were  involved.  One  was  the  unity  of  all  civili- 
zation in  the  Catholic  Church.  Dante's  poem  is  the 
representation  of  Catholicism  in  high  literature.  We 
who  look  upon  Catholicism  with  the  eyes  of  the  present 
time  are  apt  to  associate  it  with  the  idea  of  intellec- 

[180] 


DANTE  AND  MILTON 

tual  restraint,  full  liberty  of  thought  being  surrendered 
in  the  interest  of  some  higher  spiritual  good.  There 
is  no  suggestion  of  this  in  Dante.  From  beginning  to 
end  his  poem  breathes  the  spirit  of  absolutely  free 
speculation ;  there  is  no  sense  of  restraint,  because  the 
poet's  spirit  is  in  perfect  harmony  with  the  forces  that 
are  moulding  Catholicism.  The  second  factor  of  medi- 
sevalism  is  the  shifting  units  of  feudal  society  within 
the  organization  of  the  Roman  Empire,  an  Empire  as 
closely  involved  with  the  Church  as  the  body  is  in- 
volved with  the  soul.  Of  this  political  theory  Dante 
is  the  main  exponent.  His  prose  writings  are  the 
classical  source  for  the  doctrine  of  the  Holy  Roman 
Empire;  and  in  the  second  heaven  of  the  Paradise 
Justinian,  as  representative  of  law  and  social  organi- 
zation, proclaims  the  doctrine  as  the  backbone  of 
history,  secular  and  sacred.  And  the  third  element  at 
work  in  the  Middle  Ages — rather  perceived  afterwards 
than  consciously  recognized  at  the  time  —  was  the 
formation,  by  linguistic  changes,  of  the  European 
nations,  political  units  of  the  future.  Dante  was 
the  passionate  herald  of  the  new  Italian  language, 
founder  alike  of  Italian  poetry  and  prose.  He  is 
the  morning  star  of  the  movement  that  has  created 
modern  literature,  by  the  difficult  first  step  of  raising 
the  vernacular  of  the  different  peoples  into  an  organ 
of  expression  that  might  equal  the  Latin  and  Greek  of 
the  old  world. 

Dante  is  the  revealer  of  the  Middle  Ages  because  the 
Divine  Comedy  is  the  supreme  example  in  literature  of 
symbolic  poetry.     No  doubt  it  is  possible  —  so  strong 

[181] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

is  Dante  in  imaginative  mechanism  —  to  read  the  poem 
apart  from  its  symboUsm.  It  is  possible  for  a  reader  to 
be  drawn  to  the  first  part  of  the  poem  by  a  fascination  as 
of  a  horrible  dream.  In  this  spirit  he  may  follow  Dante 
in  his  pilgrimage  through  the  world  of  the  lost,  turning 
ever  to  the  left :  through  regions  of  oppressive  atmos- 
phere and  noisome  stench,  tear-soaked  champaigns, 
blood  rivers  and  dolorous  woods  of  poison  trees ;  dark- 
ness Lit  up  with  red-heated  tombs  or  rain  of  fire  flakes  on 
sandy  wastes;  with  glimpses  of  agonies  and  distorted 
hmbs,  serpents  and  men  agglomerated,  primeval  giants, 
and  the  supreme  horror  of  Lucifer.  He  ma}^  have  a 
sense  of  an  oppression  lifted  off  as  he  follows  the  poet 
through  the  sweet  sadness  of  Purgatory,  turning  ever 
to  the  right ;  clambers  with  him  the  steep  mountain 
side,  or  waits  through  nights  in  exquisite  valleys 
where  angelic  protection  wards  off  the  dread  serpent  ; 
hears  converse  the  prisoners  of  voluntary  torment, 
while  at  times  the  whole  mountain  trembles  with  sym- 
pathy as  one  more  sinner  has  regained  spiritual  free- 
dom. Or  the  reader  feels  his  imagination  spurred  to 
follow  the  graded  glories  of  the  Paradise,  lifted  from 
height  to  height  by  intensifying  brightness  in  the  eyes 
of  Beatrice,  conversing  with  beings  swathed  in  robes  of 
light  that  reflect  every  emotion,  sensible  of  never  flag- 
ging crescendo  of  light  and  motion  until  the  central  rest 
of  the  universe  is  found  in  the  Beatific  Vision.  All  this 
is  possible,  and  I  do  not  doubt  that  the  poem  is  often  so 
read.  But  this  does  not  give  us  the  true  Dante.  We 
know  that  the  Hell  is  not  a  hideous  dream,  nor  a  prod- 
uct of  creative  fancy.     Its  details  are  not  to  be  read  as 

[  182  ] 


DANTE  AND  MILTON 

facts  at  all,  whether  observed  facts  or  facts  suggested 
for  a  region  beyond  our  sight.  All  the  details  are  reali- 
zations in  concrete  parable  of  a  deeply  meditated  and 
harmoniously  developed  theory  of  sin,  and  of  the  reac- 
tions of  sin  in  a  universe  of  free  will ;  often  the  signifi- 
cance is  obvious,  and  where  this  is  not  the  case  the  de- 
tails become  so  many  symbolic  riddles,  to  dwell  on 
which  takes  the  mind  to  the  depths  of  moral  and  spirit- 
ual truth.  So  the  details  of  the  Purgatory — as  the  poet 
has  expressly  informed  us  —  are  not  limited  to  what 
may  be  supposed  beyond  the  grave,  but  go  to  build  up 
a  full  and  rounded  Doctrine  of  Penance,  as  penance  is  in 
this  life  and  that  which  is  to  come.  And  even  the  dis- 
position of  the  celestial  regions,  however  they  may  har- 
monize with  the  objects  of  faith  they  are  seen  to  encircle, 
is  none  the  less  founded  on  the  metaphysics  of  mind  and 
matter.  It  is,  then,  because  Dante's  poem  is  so  satu- 
rated with  symbolism  that  it  has  become  the  expression 
of  the  Middle  Ages.  For  to  the  mediaeval  mind  symbol- 
ism is  the  highest  form  of  truth.  Our  own  age  rests  its 
conception  of  truth  on  a  foundation  of  observed  facts ; 
the  age  of  Milton,  we  shall  see,  looks  to  hterature  for  its 
basis  of  truth.  But  to  the  mind  of  the  Middle  Ages  the 
cogency  of  things  was  found  in  what  the  things  sym- 
bolized. The  miracles  and  lives  of  the  saints,  or  the 
relic-worship  of  the  mediaeval  Church,  these  often  sug- 
gest to  a  purely  modern  mind  the  question  how  man- 
kind could  possibly  be  so  credulous.  But  to  ask  this 
question  is  to  lose  historic  perspective :  to  the  piety  of 
the  Middle  Ages  things  were  convincing  not  by  the  evi- 
dence on  which  they  rested,  but  the  spiritual  truth  they 

[  183] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

were  capable  of  revealing.  And  so  Dante's  poem  makes 
its  appeal  neither  to  fact  nor  to  beauty,  but  to  the  order 
and  symmetry  and  completeness  with  which  its  ideas 
are  built  into  a  system.^ 

This  is  not  the  place  to  analyze  the  symbolism  of  the 
poem :  what  I  am  insisting  upon  is  that  to  read  Dante 
with  our  eyes  open  to  this  is  the  best  way  of  bringing 
our  minds  in  touch  with  the  thinking  of  an  age  which  has 
helped  to  mould  our  thought.  All  that  we  can  do  at 
this  point  is  to  notice  some  of  the  specially  mediaeval 
elements  that  have  entered  into  the  thought  of  the  poem. 
And  first :  we  see  that  the  geocentric  arrangement  of  the 
universe  has  been  taken  by  Dante  without  question. 
The  mind  of  man  has  never  been  called  upon  to  make  a 
greater  leap  than  that  from  the  old  to  the  new  structure 
of  the  universe;  the  call  to  reject  what  our  senses 
make  of  all  things  the  most  evident,  and  to  realize  that 
things  visible  are  the  opposite  of  what  they  seem.  The 
geocentric  cosmogony  enters  into  the  Divine  Comedy 
with  such  clearness  that  it  can  be  pictured,  and  mapped 
to  scale ;  we  know  it  all,  from  the  frozen  centre  of  earth, 
tenanted  by  Lucifer,  through  rings  of  encircling  ele- 
ments and  heavens,  until  a  region  is  reached  where  space 
ceases  to  be.     With  this  naturally  goes  another  idea, 

^  The  clearest  treatment  of  Dante's  symbolism,  and  the  best  com- 
panion to  the  poem  as  a  part  of  world  literature,  is  Mrs.  M.  F.  Ros- 
setti's  Shadow  of  Dante.  A  formal  digest  of  the  symbohsm  by  an 
Hegelian  philosopher  is  the  late  Dr.  W.  T.  Harris's  Spiritual  Sense 
of  Dante's  Divina  Commedia.  Dean  Plumptre's  translation  is  ac- 
companied with  copious  notes,  such  as  are  absolutely  required  by 
modern  English  readers.  For  publishers  of  these  works,  see  below, 
pages  485-6. 

[184] 


DANTE  AND  MILTON 

that  expressed  by  the  difference  between  the  words  "as- 
tronomy" and  "  astrology."  It  is  the  astrological  train 
of  ideas  that  pervades  Dante's  poem.  The  heavens  are 
kept  continually  before  us.  If  we  ask  of  Dante  the 
time  of  day,  we  are  likely  to  get  a  bewildering  answer. 

Even  as  when  he  darts  his  earliest  rays 

There  where  his  Maker  shed  for  us  His  blood, 
While  Ebro's  stream  'neath  lofty  Libra  stays. 

And  Ganges  feels  its  heat  at  noon  renewed. 
So  stood  the  sun.^ 

That  is  to  say,  it  was  sunrise  at  Jerusalem,  and  therefore 
sunset  on  the  Mountain  of  Purgatory,  with  noon  in 
India,  and  in  Spain  midnight,  with  the  sign  of  Libra  in 
the  meridian,  Beatrice  in  Paradise,  asked  a  question, 
pauses  a  moment  before  she  answers  :  the  moment  of 
pausing  must  be  translated  into  astral  terms. 

When  both  the  children  of  Latona  old, 
In  shelter  of  the  Ram  and  of  the  Scales, 
The  zone  of  the  horizon  doth  enfold, 

As  is  the  time  when  from  those  balanced  scales 
They  part,  both  one  and  other,  from  their  place, 
Till,  changing  hemisphere,  the  balance  fails, 

So  long,  with  look  which  winning  smile  did  grace, 
Was  Beatrice  silent. 

Most  of  us  need  theconmientator's  explanation,  that  she 
paused  for  just  the  instant  it  takes  for  sun  or  moon  to 
rise  above  or  sink  below  the  horizon,  at  the  moment  of 
equinox,  with  the  sun  in  Aries  and  the  moon  in  Libra. 

^  Quotations  from  Dante  are  from  either  Longfellow's  ox  Plump- 
tre's  translation. 

[185] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

And  the  heavens  thus  continually  pictured  are  the 
heavens  of  astrology  — 

—  those  great  wheels, 
That  destine  every  seed  unto  some  end, 
According  as  the  stars  are  in  conjunction. 

We  have  revolving  heavens,  moved  by  angelic  intelli- 
gences, impressing  their  influences  on  human  souls.  It 
is  at  once  most  important  and  difficult  for  the  modern 
mind  to  recover  this  astrological  point  of  view,  from 
which  even  Bacon  could  never  separate  himself.  We 
are  apt  to  think  of  astrology  as  putting  into  different 
parts  of  the  material  universe  meanings  and  influences 
which  do  not  belong  to  them.  The  reverse  is,  of  course, 
the  fact :  modern  science  has  taken  out  from  large  part 
of  the  sum  of  things  the  spiritual  element  it  had  been 
conceived  to  possess.  Astrology  goes  back  to  the  earli- 
est thinking,  that  did  not  realize  an  impassable  gulf  be- 
tween mind  and  matter,  such  as  becomes  to  our  thinking 
more  mysterious  the  more  we  study  it.  Astrology  is 
thus  the  foundation  of  what  seems  to  us  mysticism.  It 
gives  to  the  universe  of  Dante  a  unity  that  embraces  in 
symmetrical  harmony  the  whole  scale  of  things,  from 
crass  matter,  through  intelligences  and  pure  spirits,  up 
to  Deity  itself. 

Of  course,  the  Catholic  Religion  fills  the  poem :  its 
oflficers,  its  types  of  devotion,  the  frame  of  mind  it 
fosters.  Its  Latin  hymns  and  psalms  can  be  familiarly 
quoted  by  their  initial  words:  — 

—  the  Angels  sang, 
Suddenly,  "InTe,  Domine,  speravi"-' 
But  beyond  pedes  meos  did  not  pass. 
[186] 


DANTE  AND  MILTON 

Catholic  creeds  and  catechisms,  and  the  whole  corpus 
of  its  doctrine,  are  here  found  erected  into  a  poetic 
system.  The  theology  of  the  Fathers,  Doctors,  Found- 
ers of  monastic  orders,  makes  great  part  of  the  con- 
versation in  the  spheres  of  Paradise.  Scholasticism, 
the  mediaeval  philosophy  founded  on  the  fusion  of 
Christianity  and  Aristotle,  has  full  play ;  not  its  doc- 
trine only,  but  its  methodical  phrasing  of  truth.  The 
Imperial  Idea,  which,  as  we  have  seen,  was  one  of  the 
foundations  of  medisevalism,  comes  into  this  poem  as 
an  article  of  faith.  To  such  an  extent  is  it  carried  that 
Dante  seems  to  feel  no  difficulty  in  shedding  glory 
even  over  the  third  Caesar^:  apparently,  his  imperial 
position  is  made  to  give  the  monster  Tiberius  a  place 
in  the  Divine  plan  of  human  salvation,  since  only  the 
universal  Emperor  could  have  given,  through  his 
inferior  officers,  the  sentence  that  made  the  death  of 
Christ  representative  of  the  whole  world.  It  is  in  the 
same  spirit  that  Brutus  and  Cassius,  assailants,  though 
from  patriotic  motives,  of  the  first  Emperor,  are  finked 
with  Judas  Iscariot  in  the  lowest  hell  of  traitors. 
And  another  element  that  has  a  large  place  in  the 
material  of  Dante's  poem  is  classical  antiquity,  as 
summed  up  and  personified  in  Virgil.  Virgil,  standing 
for  the  consummated  art  and  knowledge  of  antiquity, 
and  for  the  enunciation  of  Roman  imperiaUsm,  and 
again  for  the  comprehension  of  all  this  in  the  form  of 
epic  poetry,  is  the  natural  conductor  of  Dante  through 
all  the  region  subject   to  human  wisdom,  unto  the 

1  Paradise,  vi.  84r-92. 
1187] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

boundary  line  where  celestial  wisdom  descends  from 
on  high  in  the  person  of  Beatrice. 

Another  characteristic  feature  of  this  mediaeval  poem 
is  the  poet's  delight  in  metrical  bondage.  European 
poetry  opens  with  the  Troubadours,  whose  songs  — 
closely  associated  with  music  —  tend  to  be  tours  de 
force  of  metrical  ingenuity.  A  higher  note  is  struck 
when  Italy  invents  the  sonnet :  this  becomes  a  supreme 
type  for  a  whole  class  of  literature,  in  which  the  form 
is  fixed  as  a  mould,  and  the  most  varied  matter  must 
become  pliable  and  fit  this  mould.  Bondage  like 
this  is  the  despair  of  the  pretender  to  poetry,  yet  seems 
to  inspire  the  great  poets.  Dante  was  the  first  great 
master  of  the  sonnet.  And  the  metrical  system  of  the 
Divine  Comedy  seems  to  be  the  spirit  of  the  sonnet  en- 
larged. Its  unit  is  the  terza  rima,  just  such  as  might 
make  an  integral  part  of  sonnet  structure ;  Dante  had 
to  master  this  difficult  unit,  until  he  found  its  limita- 
tions inspiring.  Then,  just  in  the  spirit  in  which  a 
sonnet  is  built  up,  Dante  assigns  to  the  three  necessary 
divisions  of  his  theme  thirty-three  cantos  each,  each 
canto  ending  with  the  same  word,  stelle;  an  additional 
canto  in  the  introductory  part  brings  the  whole  up  to 
the  perfect  number  of  one  hundred  cantos.  And  all 
this  is  conscious  art. 

If,  Reader,  I  possessed  a  longer  space 
For  writing  it,  I  yet  would  sing  in  part 
Of  the  sweet  draught  that  ne'er  would  satiate  me : 

But  inasmuch  as  full  are  all  the  leaves 
Made  ready  for  this  second  canticle, 
The  curb  of  art  no  farther  lets  me  go. 
[188] 


DANTE  AND  MILTON 

This  delight  in  measured  symmetry  extends  from  the 
metre  to  the  matter  of  the  poem.  We  have,  not  only  a 
daily,  but  an  hourly  itinerary  of  the  mystic  journey. 
We  know  how  the  vision  began  in  the  early  morning  of 
Maundy  Thursday;  it  was  evening  when  Hell  was 
entered ;  we  know  at  what  hours  on  Friday  and  Satur- 
day certain  parts  of  the  infernal  scenery  were  being 
traversed;  with  Easter  dawn  is  the  reentrance  to  the 
upper  world  and  the  precincts  of  Purgatory ;  each  day 
and  night  is  fully  accounted  for,  until  on  Easter  Wednes- 
day the  ascent  begins  into  heavens  in  which  earthly 
time  may  be  forgotten. 

Side  by  side  with  the  strength  of  medisevalism  the 
poem  also  reflects  its  limitations.  An  element  of  prose 
comes  in  with  scholasticism :  not  necessarily  with  the 
doctrines,  but  with  the  scholastic  form  in  which  they 
are  introduced.  A  critic  objecting  to  the  Divine  scheme 
of  redemption  as  enunciated  in  the  heaven  of  Milton's 
Paradise  Lost  puts  it  that  — 

God  the  Father  turns  a  school  divine. 

There  could  not  be  a  more  pointless  sneer  as  regards 
Milton's  poem:  whatever  his  theology  may  be  as 
theology,  the  expression  of  it  in  the  Council  in  Heaven 
takes  us  to  the  style  most  remote  from  the  style  of  the 
schoolmen,  and  breathes  a  dignified  simplicity  that  is 
the  highest  eloquence.  But  it  is  otherwise  with  Dante : 
he  clearly  delights  in  scholastic  formalism  and  the 
''strangeness  of  terms"  which  to  the  men  of  the  Renais- 
sance seemed  to  identify  mediaeval  philosophy  with 
barbarism.     Throughout  the  poem  abstruse  mysteries 

[  189  ] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

are  being  expounded,  and  the  exposition  is  announced 
beforehand,  and  treated  with  the  regular  divisions  of 
logic.  In  the  highest  heavens  Beatrice  breaks  off  her 
rhapsody  to  correct  a  doctrine  of  the  schools.  The 
conversation  between  Virgil  and  Dante  is  the  inter- 
course between  a  master  and  his  bashful  scholar, 
punctuated  with  rebukes  not  called  for  by  errors  but  to 
keep  up  the  magisterial  dignity.  Dante  in  Paradise 
is  put  through  a  catechism  with  all  catechetical  for- 
malities. 

As  baccalaureate  arms  himself,  and  speaks  not 
Until  the  master  doth  propose  the  question, 
To  argue  it,  and  not  to  terminate  it, 

So  did  I  arm  myself  with  every  reason, 

Wliile  she  was  speaking,  that  I  might  be  ready 
For  such  a  questioner  and  such  profession. 

Asked,  What  is  Faith,  he  quotes  the  well-known  words 
from  the  Epistle  to  Hebrews,  and  adds, — 

And  this  appears  to  me  its  quiddity. 

He  confesses  the  three  Persons  in  one  Essence  of  the 
Holy  Trinity,  and  concludes  the  sentence:  — 

—  so  one  and  trine 
They  bear  conjunction  with  both  sunt  and  est. 

Where  in  another  place  there  is  reference  to  this  same 
theological  mystery,  it  is  added  :  — 

Mortals,  remain  contented  at  the  Qida : 

that  is,  the  scholastic  demonstratio  quia  as  distinguished 
from  demonstratio  propter  quid.  The  demonstrative 
power  of  Holy  Scripture  is  referred  to  as  a  ''syllogism," 

[190] 


DANTE  AND  MILTON 

and  the  Old  and  New  Testaments  as  the  ancient  and 
new  ''postulates."  Adam  in  Paradise  is  made  to  speak 
of  Divine  light  as  — 

—  the  truthful  Mirror, 
That  of  Himself  all  things  parhelion  makes, 
And  none  makes  Him  parhelion  of  itself. 

Further,  though  the  devoted  admirer  of  Dante  will 
hardly  admit  it,  there  is  to  most  readers  another  pro- 
saic element  that  breaks  into  the  lofty  tone  of  the  poem : 
this  is  the  interruption  of  what  must  be  called  small 
politics.  The  Middle  Ages  show  at  their  worst  in  the 
factious  struggles  of  Guelf  and  Ghibelline ;  and  these 
were  the  political  atmosphere  in  which  Dante's  life 
was  passed.  The  most  singular  feature  of  the  Divine 
Comedy  is  the  way  in  which  representatives  of  these 
political  struggles,  contemporaries  of  the  poet  or  men 
of  past  history,  enter  into  the  successive  scenes,  and 
exchange  experiences  with  the  poet ;  on  the  very  verge 
of  the  Beatific  Vision  Beatrice  must  needs  break  off 
to  exalt  a  particular  Roman  Emperor  and  denounce  a 
Pope.  There  is  no  such  example  in  all  literature  of 
the  intrusion  of  the  particular  into  the  sphere  of  the 
universal.  Elsewhere  in  epic  poetry,  if  personages 
of  real  life  enter  in,  they  are  idealized,  and  take  their 
tone  and  measure  from  their  poetic  surroundings.  But 
the  real  personages  of  the  Divine  Comedy  speak  with 
their  everyday  speech,  and  are  engrossed  with  the 
personalities  of  political  faction  or  social  intercourse. 
Many  of  these  personages  are  so  obscure  that  all  the 
diligence  of  commentators  cannot  identify  them;  or 
in  some  cases,  the  evidence  discovered  by  the  commen- 

[191] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

tators  is  opposed  to  the  judgments  of  Dante.  We 
know  that  the  poet  in  his  personal  hfe  was  a  noble 
worker  and  martyr  in  an  untoward  age.  But  the 
literary  tone  that  is  proper  to  satire  refuses  to  blend 
with  epic  idealism :  the  very  sublimity  of  the  poem  as 
a  whole  makes  these  jarring  notes  the  more  discordant. 
All  these  are  particular  elements  of  medisDvalism 
which  constitute  special  features  of  the  Divine  Comedy : 
but  that  which  makes  its  unity  and  dominating  im- 
pression is  something  still  more  characteristically  me- 
diaeval. Classical  poetry,  as  a  convention,  but  as 
little  more  than  a  convention,  must  always  invoke  the 
Muse.  There  is  occasional  invocation  of  the  Muse 
with  Dante,  but  the  true  Muse  of  his  poem  is  Beatrice. 
And  she  is  much  more  than  the  Muse  :  she  is  the  inspira- 
tion and  soul  of  the  whole.  Nothing  reveals  the  inner- 
most heart  of  medisevalism  more  than  the  relations  of 
Dante  and  Beatrice.  They  were  not  lovers,  as  a 
modern  or  an  ancient  poet  would  understand  the  term. 
Viewed  at  a  distance  in  the  radiancy  of  her  girlhood, 
Beatrice  had  made  upon  Dante  that  impression  which, 
in  any  age,  girlhood  may  make  upon  the  pure  soul  of  a 
man.  Seen  only  at  social  distance,  this  image  of  Bea- 
trice had  been  kept  within  the  limits  of  the  ideal ;  when 
she  is  removed  by  an  early  death,  her  image  passes 
into  a  higher  region  as  symbol  of  spiritual  exaltation 
and  the  call  from  on  high.  Whatever  Dante's  Ufa 
gathers  of  philosophy  and  practical  wisdom  must  be 
idealized  on  a  lower  plane;  beyond  this  there  is  a 
further  exaltation,  and  Beatrice  is  its  type.  Now  all 
this  gives  us  the  most  impressive  and  singular  char- 

[192] 


DANTE  AND  MILTON 

acteristic  in  the  spirit  of  the  Middle  Ages  —  its  ten- 
dency to  ideahzation  on  the  basis  of  sex  homage.  It  is 
one  of  the  ironies  of  history  that  from  the  ''barbarian" 
races  should  have  come  this  addition  to  human  life 
and  thought,  that  the  attraction  of  sex  to  sex,  which 
to  the  Greek  was  the  fairest  of  life's  sports,  and  to  the 
Hebrew  the  foundation  of  domestic  and  social  sanity, 
should  now  become  an  inspiration  of  mental  and  moral 
exaltation.  The  religion  received  by  the  western  races 
passively  from  outside  is  touched  by  this  instinct,  and 
Christianity  undergoes  its  greatest  modijScation  of 
Mariolatry,  the  mystery  of  Virgin  Mother  exalted 
amongst  the  highest  religious  mysteries.  The  same 
instinct  affects  an  era  which  was  almost  entirely  an 
era  of  war,  and  this  gives  the  world  Chivalry.  This 
same  instinct  is  touched  by  the  philosophy  of  an  age 
which  found  its  philosophy  in  disputation,  and,  side 
by  side  with  dry  scholasticism,  we  get  the  light  and 
airy  "gay  science,"  the  Courts  of  Love,  and  amatory 
metaphysics  that  can  turn  scholastic  subtlety  on  to  sex 
questions,  with  no  more  of  passion  than  in  exchanges  of 
riddles.  This  peculiar  ethos  of  mediaevalism  has  no 
more  striking  manifestation  than  in  the  difference  of 
the  parts  assigned  to  Beatrice  and  Virgil  in  Dante's 
poem.  Virgil  is  guide  through  all  the  regions  to  the 
farthest  bound  of  the  mundane  world,  through  regions 
constituted  by  a  revelation  Virgil  had  never  known; 
for,  once  revealed,  the  regions  of  Hell  and  Purgatory  are 
dominated  by  ideas  that  human  science  can  interpret 
and  systematize.  But  there  is  a  region  beyond  all  this, 
for  eye  hath  not  seen,  nor  ear  heard,  nor  hath  it  entered 
o  [  193  ] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

into  the  heart  of  man,  what  has  been  reserved  for  the 
chosen  of  God.  For  the  celestial  there  must  come  a 
guide  from  on  high,  and  the  poet  finds  one  in  the  con- 
summated perfection  of  his  first  love.  The  masterpiece 
of  Dante  and  the  masterpiece  of  Goethe  unite  in  the 
same  point.  But  there  is  a  difference.  The  Ewigweib- 
liche  of  the  German  poet  comes  only  as  a  final  thought 
in  a  disconnected  epilogue.  The  glorified  Beatrice  has 
dominated  every  part  of  Dante's  poem  from  beginning 
to  end,  as  the  same  Beatrice  in  her  maiden  purity  had 
struck  the  first  note  in  the  poet's  New  Life. 

II 

Of  what  is  the  Paradise  Lost  the  exponent?  Of 
Protestantism  certainly,  if  Protestantism  is  to  be  the 
antithesis  of  Catholicism.  But  Protestantism  is  famous 
for  its  variations :  there  is  nothing  in  Milton's  poem  to 
bring  back  to  us  the  Protestantism  of  Luther,  or  of 
Calvin,  or  of  Cromwell,  or  of  the  contests  between 
Presbyterian  and  Independent.  What  the  Paradise 
Lost  reflects  is  the  Protestantism  of  the  Renaissance. 

We  have  seen  that  this  movement  has  two  very 
different  sides.  On  the  one  hand,  the  Renaissance 
means  the  recovery  of  the  ancient  classical  literatures, 
with  the  resulting  artistic  and  literary  revival.  But 
among  the  manuscripts  brought  to  the  West  are  manu- 
scripts of  the  Old  and  New  Testaments,  and  the  same 
revived  scholarship  that  was  being  applied  to  the  secu- 
lar literature  was  brought  to  bear  also  on  these.  When 
the  results  have  time  to  reach  the  general  mind,  a 

[194] 


DANTE  AND  MILTON 

movement  of  a  different  kind  begins,  which  we  call  the 
Reformation,  and  which  is  a  political  and  theological, 
much  more  than  a  literary  movement ;  it  goes  on  to  a 
stage  of  excess  in  the  later  Puritanism.  The  singular 
position  of  Milton  in  history  is  that  he  represents  in 
himself  the  whole  range  of  the  Renaissance ;  he  is  the 
best  type  of  the  classical  scholar,  and  he  is  the  best  type 
of  Puritanism.  In  the  morning  of  his  life  he  is  drink- 
ing in  all  Renaissance  influences;  he  is  personally 
associated  with  the  Italian  leaders  of  the  movement, 
and  those  who  speak  with  authority  have  ranked  his 
Italian  sonnets  with  the  best  sonnets  of  native  produc- 
tion. In  the  middle  stage  of  his  life  Milton  is  in  the 
thick  of  Reformation  polemics,  and,  next  to  Cromwell, 
the  most  hated  Puritan  in  Europe.  His  old  age  rele- 
gates him  from  active  life  to  literature ;  and  the  Para- 
dise Lost  displays  the  anomaly  of  Puritan  thought  in 
classic  form.  It  is,  however,  no  single  system  of 
Puritan  thought,  but  the  common  groundwork  of  all 
in  the  literature  of  the  Bible.  The  Bible  of  course 
belongs  equally  to  Catholicism  and  to  Protestantism. 
But  there  is  a  difference.  To  the  Catholic,  the  Bible 
is  the  revered  source  of  truth,  while"  the  interpretation 
of  that  truth,  and  the  question  what  parts  of  it  shall  be 
emphasized,  the  Church  keeps  in  its  own  hands.  To 
the  Protestant,  the  Bible  is  the  sacred  literature,  to  be 
distributed  broadcast  among  the  faithful  as  their  daily 
spiritual  food.  But  this  Bible  is  a  highly  miscellaneous 
literature  :  the  thoughts  and  ideas  scattered  through  its 
separate  books  Milton  focusses  into  a  poetic  scheme 
of  cosmic    history  and    the  sum  of  things,  and  this 

[195] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

becomes  accepted  as  the  basis  of  Protestant  thinking. 
A  scheme  of  the  universe  had  been  conceived  for  me- 
diaeval Cathohcism  by  Dante :  this  had  been  founded 
on  philosophical  reflection  expressed  in  poetic  sym- 
bolism. The  Protestant  scheme  of  the  universe, 
through  this  work  of  Milton,  finds  its  foundation  in 
sacred  literature.^ 

Now  this  has  an  important  bearing  upon  literary 
history.  A  literary  tradition,  with  each  poet  echoing 
his  predecessor,  had  been  the  great  achievement  of 
classical  antiquity:  this  ;the  Middle  Ages  had  inter- 
rupted, bringing  to  the  front  other  things,  including 
Christianity.  With  Milton  the  classical  tradition 
revives,  but  meanwhile  the  literature  of  the  Old  and 
New  Testament  has  been  added  to  what  is  to  be  con- 
sidered classical  literature.  The  spirit  of  literary 
echoing,  which  is  the  essence  of  classicalism,  is  found  to 
be  applied  by  Milton  to  Greek  and  biblical  literature 
alike. 

I  lay  stress  upon  this  matter  of  literary  echoing, 
because  it  seems  to  me  to  be  the  very  embodiment  of 
the  classical  spirit  in  poetic  art.  But  it  is  a  difficult 
thing  to  discuss :  he  who  undertakes  to  explain  a  joke 

1  That  Paradise  Lost,  and  not  the  Bible  itself,  is  responsible  for 
current  ideas  of  cosmic  history  is  illustrated  by  two  circumstances. 
1.  The  Protestant  Bishop  Bickersteth,  in  his  poem  Yesterday,  To-day 
and  Forever,  has  made  an  independent  reconstruction  of  such  cosmic 
history  from  purely  biblical  sources ;  this  is  found  fundamentally 
different  from  Milton's,  in  such  matters  as  the  Fall  of  Angels  and 
Man.  2.  Dean  Stanley  {History  of  Jewish  Church,  lecture  xlix) 
says  there  is  no  trace  in  Hebrew  or  Christian  scriptures  of  Milton's 
Fall  of  the  Angels.  The  passage  in  Jude,  from  which  Milton  probably 
drew  the  idea,  has  an  entirely  different  reference. 

[196] 


DANTE  AND  MILTON 

finds  that  the  humor  has  been  evaporating  while  the 
explanation  has  been  proceeding;  and  so  the  attempt 
to  draw  out  the  echoes  that  lie  beneath  the  surface  of 
poetry  mars  their  delicacy  by  the  mere  process  of 
statement.  Our  own  time  belongs  to  a  different  poetic 
era,  when  originality  is  enthroned  and  plagiarism  is 
an  indictable  offence.  In  classical  poetry  originality, 
as  we  understand  it,  counts  for  little ;  while  what 
might  be  called  plagiarism — what  was  called  plagi- 
arism in  eighteenth-century  discussions  over  Milton's 
poetry^ — is  the  fundamental  beauty.  The  classical 
poets  make  a  sort  of  apostolical  succession  in  literature ; 
each  rests  his  claim  to  poetic  unction  on  the  way  his 
details  recall  to  the  reader  details  in  the  poetry  of  his 
predecessors,  while  the  poetry  of  these  predecessors 
made  echoes  of  poetry  older  still.  Milton,  coming  at 
the  end  of  the  line,  has  the  longest  tradition  behind 
him;  he  has  moreover  the  addition  of  biblical  to 
classic  poetry  to  enlarge  the  field  from  which  he  can 
draw  his  effects. 

What  might  have  seemed  a  formidable  obstacle  in  the 
poet's  way  —  the  incongruity  of  classical  and  biblical 
religion  —  is  met  by  the  traditional  idea  of  idolatry  as 
a  corruption  of  true  religion.  The  gods  of  antiquity 
become  the  devils  of  the  Christian  poem.  When 
Satan  has  roused  his  followers  from  the  stupor  of  their 
fall,   and  is  marshalling  them  for  fresh  conflict,   the 

*  An  account  of  the  Lauder  controversy  over  the  alleged  plagia- 
risms of  Milton  is  given  at  the  end  of  Bishop  Newton's  edition  of  the 
Paradise  Lost.  I  may  add  that  this  edition,  with  its  copious  foot- 
notes citing  parallels  at  full  length,  is  specially  helpful  for  the  study 
of  poetic  echoing.     [  London  :  1790.] 

[197] 


THE   FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

question  is  raised,  Who  are  the  leaders  of  this  demonic 
host? 

Say,  Muse,  their  names  then  known,  who  first,  who  last, 
Rous'd  from  the  slumber  on  that  fiery  couch, 
At  their  great  emperor's  call,  as  next  in  worth, 
Came  singly  where  he  stood  on  the  bare  strand, 
While  the  promiscuous  crowd  stood  yet  aloof  ? 

The  very  raising  of  the  question  echoes  the  classical 
convention  of  the  appeal  to  the  Muse;  the  answer 
echoes  the  poetical  catalogues  —  of  ships,  of  alhes,  of 
Argonautic  comrades — which  has  been  a  fixed  tradi- 
tion of  classical  poetry.  And  the  substance  of  the 
answer  —  some  hundred  and  forty  lines  in  length^  — 
is  a  history  of  idolatry;  each  false  god  of  biblical  or 
Greek  or  Egyptian  thought  furnished  with  just  such 
descriptive  touches  as  will  recall,  in  outhne,  the  whole 
struggle  of  true  and  idolatrous  in  all  literature.  The 
powerful  episode  of  Sin  and  Death  at  the  gates  of  Hell 
is,  as  a  whole,  the  expansion  of  St.  James's  thought : 
"The  lust,  when  it  hath  conceived,  beareth  sin;  and 
the  sin,  when  it  is  fullgrown,  bringeth  forth  death." 
But  what  in  the  epistle  may  be  only  metaphor  becomes 
in  the  poem  a  fully  developed  allegory;  one  detail  of 
the  allegory  —  sin  appearing  full  grown  at  the  first 
thought  of  apostasy  from  God  —  is  made  elaborately 
to  echo  the  classic  legend  of  Athene  springing  fully 
armed  from  the  brain  of  Zeus ;  while  the  climax  of 
bringing  forth  death  is  at  once  supported  and  intensi- 
fied by  suggestions  of  the  classical  horrors  of  the  mon- 

1  Paradise  Lost,  i.  381-521. 
[198] 


DANTE  AND  MILTON 

ster  Scylla.  The  empire  founded  in  hell  by  the  fallen 
angels  involves  a  council  hall,  and  so  a  demonic  archi- 
tect;   a  classical  parallel  assists. 

In  Ausonian  land 
Men  call'd  him  Mulciber ;  and  how  he  fell 
From  Heav'n,  they  fabl'd,  thrown  by  angry  Jove 
Sheer  o'er  the  crystal  battlements ;  from  morn 
To  noon  he  fell,  from  noon  to  dewy  eve, 
A  summer's  day ;  and  with  the  setting  sun 
Dropt  from  the  zenith  Uke  a  falling  star, 
On  Lemnos  th'  ^Egean  isle :  thus  they  relate, 
Erring ;  for  he  with  this  rebellious  rout 
Fell  long  before. 

Not  personages  only,  but  ideas  of  classical  literature 
become  the  groundwork  of  poetic  echoing.  The  angel 
who  accepts  the  hospitality  of  Adam  in  Paradise  is,  of 
course,  the  sociable  Raphael  of  the  Book  of  Tohit;  but, 
lest  it  might  seem  strange  that  an  angel  should  partake 
of  mortal  food,  we  have  recalled  the  speculation  of 
ancient  poetry  on  graduated  scales  of  being,  each  feed- 
ing on  that  which  is  lower  in  the  scale. 

Of  elements 
The  grosser  feeds  the  purer,  earth  the  sea, 
Earth  and  the  sea  feed  air,  the  air  those  fires 
Ethereal,  and  as  lowest  first  the  moon.  ,  .  . 
The  sun  that  light  imparts  to  all,  receives 
From  all  his  alimental  recompense 
In  humid  exhalations,  and  at  even 
Sups  with  the  ocean. 

Large  part  of  the  spirit  underlying  classical  literature 
is,  of  course,  absolutely  antagonistic  to  the  spirit  of 
the  Bible;   yet  this  has  appropriateness  for  the  fallen 

[199  1 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

angels.  Satan  and  the  powers  of  hell  talk  of  fate 
instead  of  Providence,  and  of  the  Epicurean  ''gods 
who  live  at  ease."  The  whole  range  of  ancient  phi- 
losophy, as  a  vanity  to  the  Puritan  thought  of  the  one 
thing  needful,  is  made  a  theme  of  discussion  amongst 
the  lost  spirits. 

Others  apart  sat  on  a  hill  retired, 

In  thoughts  more  elevate,  and  reasoned  high 

Of  Providence,  foreknowledge,  will,  and  fate, 

Fixed  fate,  free  will,  foreknowledge  absolute, 

And  found  no  end,  in  wandering  mazes  lost. 

Of  good  and  evil  much  they  argued  then, 

Of  happiness  and  final  misery, 

Passion  and  apathy,  and  glory  and  shame ; 

Vain  wisdom  all,  and  false  philosophy. 

The  principle  of  such  echoing  applies  to  details  of 
a  picture,  or  to  mere  poetic  machinery:  the  smallest 
point  can  gain  by  some  memory  link  with  the  past  of 
classical  or  biblical  literature.  Satan  sees  the  world 
bound  to  the  empyrean  heaven  by  a  golden  chain, 
just  as,  in  the  Iliad,  Zeus  speaks  of  — 

om-  golden  everlasting  chain. 
Whose  strong  embrace  holds  heaven  and  earth  and  main : 
I  fix  the  chain  to  strong  Olympus'  height. 
And  the  whole  world  hangs  trembling  in  my  sight. 

Flowers  spring  up  for  Adam  and  Eve  passing  to  their 
nuptial  bower,  as  in  the  Iliad  for  Zeus  and  Hera;  as 
with  Olympus,  so  the  gate  of  heaven  is  self-opening  to 
those  who  pass  through.  The  stairway  ascending  to 
the  gate  of  heaven  recalls  Jacob's  vision  of  the  ladder 
and  the  ascending  and  descending  angels.     Beside  this 

[200] 


DANTE  AND  MILTON 

is  a  passage  down  to  the  earth,  wider,  it  is  said,  than 
that  of  aftertime,  by  which  the  whole  length  and 
breadth  of  the  promised  land  was  open  to  the  sight  of 
all  heaven :  this  last  is  an  echo  of  the  saying  in  Deu- 
teronomy, "A  land  which  the  Lord  thy  God  careth  for; 
the  eyes  of  the  Lord  thy  God  are  always  upon  it,  from 
the  beginning  of  the  year  even  unto  the  end  of  the 
year."  The  Morning  Hymn  in  Paradise  is  closely 
modelled  upon  the  Benedicite.  Satan  leads  his  rebel 
forces  '4nto  the  Hmits  of  the  north,"  and  to  what  he 
impiously  names  after  the  Messiah's  Mount  of  the 
Congregation :  so  in  biblical  prophecy  it  is  always  the 
north  ^  out  of  which  danger  threatens  God's  people, 
and  in  particular,  Isaiah's  hymn  of  the  fallen  Star  of 
Morning  makes  him  say  in  his  heart:  — 

I  will  ascend  into  heaven, 
I  will  exalt  my  throne  above  the  stars  of  God ; 
And  I  will  sit  upon  the  mount  of  congregation 
In  the  uttermost  parts  of  the  north. 

The  poetic  practice  of  Milton  avoids  terms  of  numerical 
exactness  as  carefully  as  that  of  Dante  affects  them; 
but  there  is  an  exception  where  the  exact  term  is  an 
echo.     Thus  it  is  said  of  Satan  :  — 

His  countenance,  as  the  morning  star  that  guides 
The  starry  flock,  allured  them,  and  with  lies 
Drew  after  him  the  third  part  of  Heaven's  host : 

this  is  on  the  authority  of  a  passage  in  Revelation,  which 
speaks  of  the  Dragon  ''whose  tail  draweth  the  third 

*  E.g.  Job  xxxvii.  22 ;    the  note  on  this  passage  in  the  Modern 
Reader's  Bible  (page  1672)  collects  other  examples. 

[201] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

part  of  the  stars  of  heaven,  and  did  cast  them  to  the 
earth."  Similarly,  the  angelic  narrator  tells  of  the 
Messiah  advancing  to  his  triumph,  attended  with  ten 
thousand  thousand  saints  — 

And  twenty  thousand  (I  their  number  heard) 
Chariots  of  God,  half  on  each  hand  were  seen : 

the  unwonted  definiteness  is  an  echo  from  the  triumph 
ode  of  the  sixty-eighth  Psalm :  — 

The  chariots  of  God  are  twenty  thousand, 
Even  thousands  upon  thousands. 

It  is  a  fine  example  of  the  poetic  echo  where  the  rebel 
angels  threaten  to  use  the  very  elements  of  their  hell 
as  arms  against  their  conqueror,  until  the  Almighty  shall 
find  his  throne  ''mixed  with  Tartarean  sulphur  and 
strange  fire  "  :  the  epithet  strange  (besides  its  etymo- 
logical suggestion  of  etrange  or  foreign)  draws  in  the 
stories  of  Nadab  and  Abihu,  who  offered  strange  fire 
before  the  Lord  and  were  destroyed.  The  war  in 
heaven,  with  its  hurling  of  mountains,  is  as  a  whole 
founded  on  the  classical  war  of  Titans  against  their 
heaven.  But  when  the  evil  angels,  driven  in  flight 
before  the  advancing  Messiah,  are  said  to  — 

wish  the  mountains  now  might  be  again 
Thrown  on  them  as  a  shelter  from  his  ire  — 

the  force  of  the  again  is  to  draw  in  the  passage  in  Rosea, 
and  its  echo  in  Revelation,  in  which  the  foes  of  God  call 
upon  the  mountains  and  hills  to  cover  them.  The 
most  incongruous  detail  in  the  whole  picture  thus  rests 
upon   both   classical   and   biblical   foundation.     Once 

[202] 


DANTE  AND  MILTON 

more:  the  Messiah  brings  the  victory  in  this  war  of 
heaven  by  his  own  unaided  might :  — 

Stand  still  in  bright  array,  ye  saints,  here  stand 
Ye  angels  armed ;  this  day  from  battle  rest ; 

we  at  once  catch  the  echo  from  the  scene  of  Moses 
ushering  in  the  supernatural  dehverance  at  the  Red 
Sea:  — 

Stand  still,  and  see  the  salvation  of  the  Loed. 

More  than  this,  we  catch  the  echo  of  the  forty-sixth 
Psalm,  when,  picturing  Jehovah  as  the  desolator  mak- 
ing wars  to  cease  to  the  ends  of  the  earth,  it  reaches 
its  climax :  — 

Be  still,  and  know  that  I  am  God  ! 

The  echoing  is  more  difficult  to  formulate,  though 
equally  striking,  when  it  rests  upon  single  words,  or 
even  sentence  structure.  The  long  narrative  of  the 
War  in  Heaven  and  Creation  of  the  World,  which  fills 
the  middle  of  Milton's  poem,  is  itself  a  tribute  to  the 
convention  of  classical  epic,  by  which  the  beginning  of 
affairs  is  given  by  narrative  in  the  course  of  the  action. 
The  words  with  which  this  narrative  opens  — 

High  matter  thou  enjoinst  me,  0  prime  of  men, 
Sad  task  and  hard  — 

seem  almost  a  formula  for  the  commencement  of  such 
an  epic  narrative ;  they  echo  exactly  the  words  with 
which  ^neas  opens  his  narrative  at  the  corresponding 
point  of  Virgil's  epic  — 

Infandum,  Regina,  jubes  renovare  dolorem  — 
[203] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

and  in  spirit  there  is  an  echo  of  the  opening  of  Odysseus' 
story  at  the  Phaeacian  banquet,  not  to  mention  similar 
situations  in  other  classical  poems. ^  If  the  reader 
cares  to  analyze  the  sentence  structure  of  Milton's 
elaborate  similes,  he  will  find  that  they  fall  into  three 
main  types,  and  thus  echo  one  another,  not  without 
suggestions  of  similar  structure  in  Homer.^  Of  course, 
echoes  of  this  kind  are  often  phondnta  sunetoisin,  things 
which  have  a  sound  for  those  who  have  ears.  It  seems 
a  simple  fine  — 

Thou  sun,  of  this  great  world  both  eye  and  soul  — 

^  Odyssey,  ix.  init.     Compare  Faerie  Queene,  II.  ii.  39-40. 

2  In  similes  of  the  first  type  the  substance  of  the  comparison  is 
expressed  in  dependent  sentences  or  clauses,  and  then  additional 
particulars  are  added  in  a  principal  sentence.  [Simile  of  the  levia- 
than 1.  200-208  — of  the  bees  i.  768-775  —  of  the  fleet  on  the 
horizon  ii.  636-642  —  of  the  gales  of  Araby  iv.  159-165.]  The 
effect  is  increased  in  some  by  the  addition  of  a  summary,  binding 
both  parts  together.  [Simile  of  the  elves  i.  781-788  —  of  the  cloud 
forms  ii.  533-538.]  The  simile  of  the  bending  corn  [iv.  980-985] 
has  the  summary  without  the  other  cha  acteristies. 

In  similes  of  the  second  type  a  general  state  of  things  is  indicated 
in  a  series  of  dependent  sentences,  then  a  modifying  circumstance 
foUows  in  a  short  dependent  sentence  introduced  by  a  new  connec- 
tive, then  the  result  of  the  one  on  the  other  follows  in  a  principal 
sentence.  [Simile  of  the  reviving  landscape  ii.  488^95  —  of  the 
rustic  maiden  ix.  445^54.] 

In  similes  of  the  third  type  the  particulars  are  introduced  in 
successive  dependent  sentences  or  clauses  of  increasing  indirectness. 
[Simile  of  reverberating  rocks  ii.  284-290  —  of  the  night  hag  ii.  662- 
666  —  of  thunder  clouds  ii.  714-718  —  of  a  vulture  on  a  barren 
plain  iii.  431^39  —  of  the  scout  iii.  543-551.] 

In  aU  three  types  the  classical  scholar  will  recognize  a  general 
resemblance  to  the  structure  of  Homeric  similes,  but  from  the  differ- 
ent sentence  construction  of  English  and  Greek  it  is  diiScult  to 
equate  the  types  precisely. 

[  204  ] 


DANTE  AND  MILTON 

but  the  both  is  a  reminder  to  the  classical  scholar  how 
the  system  of  Ovid  makes  the  sun  the  eye  of  the  world, 
that  of  Pliny  makes  the  sun  its  soul.  Or  again :  the 
narrative  of  the  Rebellion  in  Heaven  opens  with  the 
words  — 

On  a  Day  — 

if  we  stop  here,  there  is  an  echo  of  the  scene  in  Job 
opening  with  the  words,  "  There  was  a  day  when  the 
sons  of  God  came  to  present  themselves  before  the 
Lord  "  ;  and  the  interesting  suggestion  of  ceremonial 
days  in  the  eternity  of  heaven  which  those  words  open 
up  is  reflected  in  the  narration  of  Raphael  which  fol- 
lows.    But  when  Milton's  sentence  continues  — 

on  such  day 
As  Heaven's  great  year  brings  forth  — 

the  reader  of  Plato  recognizes  the  magnus  annus,  the 
vast  stretch  of  time  conceived  to  make  a  year  for 
heaven,  the  interval  when  the  differing  periods  of  the 
revolving  spheres  have  reached  their  common  multi- 
ple, and  so  all  are  alike  at  their  starting-point  at  the 
same  moment.  Sometimes  it  is  a  minute  point  in  the 
original  which  is  expanded  in  the  echo.  By  a  meta- 
phor, the  Epistle  to  Hebrews  speaks  of  the  Son  as  the 
express  image  of  the  Father :  the  metaphor  is  raised 
by  Milton  to  a  distinct  action :  — 

HefuU 
Resplendent  all  his  Father  manifest 
Expressed.^ 

^  "  Express  image  of  his  person  "  is  the  A.  V.  reading  of  Hebrews 
I.  3 ;  compare  Paradise  Lost,  x.  66. 

[205] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

The  opening  words  of  Genesis  say  that  the  earth  was 
without  form  and  void,  and  the  Spirit  of  God  moved 
upon  the  face  of  the  waters.  The  word  in  the  original 
carries  the  metaphorical  suggestion  of  brooding :  Milton 
not  only  substitutes  that  word,  but  expands  the  idea,  so 
that  the  mystic  process  of  bringing  cosmos  out  of  chaos 
is  assimilated  to  the  coagulating  and  differentiating 
first  steps  in  the  hatching  of  an  egg. 

On  the  watry  calm 
His  brooding  wings  the  Spirit  of  God  outspread, 
And  \'ital  ^^rtue  infused,  and  vital  warmth 
Throughout  the  fluid  mass,  but  downward  purged 
The  black  tartareous  cold  infernal  dregs, 
Adverse  to  life :  then  founded  —  then  conglobed 
Like  things  to  like,  the  rest  to  several  place 
Disparted,  and  between  spun  out  the  air  — 
And  earth  self-balanc't  on  her  centre  hung.^ 

It  may  be  worth  while  to  stop  and  realize  from  time 
to  time  the  chain  of  echoes  —  the  mixed  metaphor 
seems  not  inapt  for  its  purpose  —  which  have  gathered 
about  a  particular  passage.  Virgil,  as  his  hero  steps 
over  the  boundary  which  separates  from  the  world  of 
spirits,  surrounds  him  Tv^th  shadowy  figures,  personifi- 
cations of  the  ideas  we  associate  with  death,  and  what 
precedes  or  follows  death. 

1  This  much  disputed  passage  (vii.  234-242)  I  have  punctuated 
so  as  to  make  the  words  between  the  dashes  exegetical  of  the  word 
founded.  This  bibUcal  term  of  the  work  of  creation  (e.g.  Psalm 
xxiv.  2)  Milton  interprets  as  uniting  like  things  to  like  and  separat- 
ing unhke  things  from  unlike :  the  mass  has  thus  run  together  into 
globxiles  of  earth,  globules  of  water,  with  air  separating. 

[206] 


DANTE  AND  MILTON 

Before  the  gate,  yea  in  the  yawning  porch, 
Grief,  and  avenging  Cares,  have  placed  their  lair ; 
And  pale  Diseases  dwell,  and  sad  Old  Age, 
Fear,  Famine  preaching  crime,  and  sordid  Want, 
Shapes  terrible  to  look  on :  Death,  and  Toil, 
And  Death's  own  brother  Sleep,  and  the  false  Joys 
That  cheat  men's  minds :  War  on  the  other  side, 
Death-laden,  and,  deep  in  their  iron-bound  cells, 
The  Furies  of  Remorse,  while  Discord  raves, 
Her  hair  of  living  snakes  clotted  with  blood. 

Sackville's  Induction  to  the  Mirror  for  Magistrates 
has  a  descent  to  the  world  of  spirits,  in  which  Virgil's 
effect  is  recalled,  but  with  a  difference :  each  single 
personification  is  expanded  to  a  full-length  portrait, 
with  many  stanzas  of  description ;  a  gallery  of  shadow 
sculpture  and  masterpiece  of  sustained  horror.  We 
have  space  for  only  one  or  two  of  these  shadow  figures. 

And  first  within  the  jaws  and  porch  of  hell 
Sat  deep  Remorse  of  Conscience,  all  besprent 
With  tears  :  and  to  herself  oft  would  she  tell 
Her  wretchedness,  and  cursing  never  stent 
To  sob  and  sigh  :  but  ever  thus  lament 
With  thoughtful  care,  as  she  that  all  in  vain 
Would  wear  and  waste  continually  in  pain. 

Her  eyes  unsteadfast  rolling  here  and  there, 

Whirled  on  each  place,  as  place  that  vengeance  brought ; 

So  was  her  mind  continually  in  fear. 

Tossed  and  tormented  with  the  tedious  thought 

Of  those  detested  crimes  which  she  had  wrought : 

With  dreadful  cheer  and  looks  thrown  to  the  sky, 

Wishing  for  death,  and  yet  she  could  not  die. 

Next  saw  we  Dread,  all  trembling  how  he  shook, 
With  foot  uncertain  proffered  here  and  there ; 
[207] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

Benumbed  of  speech,  and  with  a  ghastly  look 
Searched  every  place,  all  pale  and  dread  for  fear, 
His  cap  upborne  with  starting  of  his  hair, 
Stoyned  and  amazed  at  his  own  shade  for  deed, 
And  fearing  greater  dangers  than  was  need.  .  .  . 

And  next  in  order  sad  Old  Age  we  found : 
His  beard  all  hoar,  his  eyes  hollow  and  blind ; 
With  drooping  cheer  still  poring  on  the  ground, 
As  on  the  place  where  nature  him  assigned 
To  rest,  when  that  the  sisters  had  untwined 
His  vital  thread,  and  ended  with  their  knife 
The  fleeting  course  of  fast  declining  life.  .  .  . 

Crookback'd  he  was,  tooth  shaken,  and  blear  eyed  ; 
Went  on  three  feet,  and  sometime  crept  on  four ; 
With  old  lame  bones,  that  rattled  by  his  side ; 
His  scalp  all  pill'd,  and  he  with  eld  forlore : 
His  withered  fist  still  knocking  at  death's  door ; 
Tumbling  and  driveUing  as  he  draws  his  breath : 
For  brief,  the  shape  and  messenger  of  death. 

Spenser  followed  Sackville  as  his  master :  where  a  hero 
of  the  Fairie  Queene  is  led  by  Mammon  down  the  broad 
way  to  Pluto's  grisly  realm  the  traditional  effect  is 
introduced,  with  the  brevity  of  Virgil,  yet  something 
of  the  vividness  of  Sackville. 

By  that  way's  side  there  sat  internal  Pain, 
And  fast  beside  him  sat  tumultuous  Strife : 
The  one  in  hand  an  iron  whip  did  strain, 
The  other  brandished  a  bloody  knife ; 
And  both  did  gnash  their  teeth,  and  both  did  threaten  life. 

On  th'  other  side  in  one  consort  there  sat 
Cruel  Revenge,  and  rancorous  Despight, 
Disloyal  Treason  and  heart-burning  Hate ; 
But  gnawing  Jealousy,  out  of  their  sight 
[208] 


DANTE  AND  MILTON 

Sitting  alone,  his  bitter  lips  did  bite ; 
And  trembling  Fear  still  to  and  fro  did  fly, 
And  found  no  place  where  safe  he  shroud  him  might : 
Lamenting  Sorrow  did  in  darkness  lie. 
And  Shame  his  ugly  face  did  hide  from  Uving  eye. 

And  over  them  sad  Horror  with  grim  hew 
Did  always  soar,  beating  his  iron  wings ; 
And  after  him  Owls  and  Night-ravens  flew 
The  hateful  messengers  of  heavy  things. 
Of  death  and  dolor  telling  sad  tidings ; 
Whiles  sad  Celeno,  sitting  on  a  clifte, 
A  song  of  bale  and  bitter  sorrow  sings. 
That  heart  of  flint  asunder  could  have  rift ; 
Which  having  ended  after  him  she  flieth  swift. 

Milton  in  his  turn  recalls  this  traditionary  train  of 
shadow  personifications,  but  the  whole  situation  is 
different.  Satan  encounters  the  court  of  Chaos,  its 
dark  pavilion  spread  on  the  wasteful  deep :  — 

With  him  enthroned 
Sat  sable-vested  Night,  eldest  of  things. 
The  consort  of  his  reign ;  and  by  them  stood 
Orcus  and  Ades,  and  the  dreaded  name 
Of  Demogorgon ;  Rimior  next,  and  Chance, 
And  Tumult  and  Confusion  all  embroiled. 
And  Discord  with  a  thousand  various  mouths. 

We  may  take  a  brief  passage  of  Milton,  and  see  how 
widely  its  rootlets  of  poetic  association  are  spread.  Be- 
tween Satan  and  the  Night  Watch  of  Angels  in  Para- 
dise a  conflict  is  impending  (at  the  close  of  the  fourth 
book)  that  might  have  shattered  the  world  — 

Had  not  soon 
Th'  Eternal  to  prevent  such  horrid  fray 
Hung  forth  in  Heaven  his  golden  scales,  yet  seen 
p  [  209  1 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

Betwixt  Astrsea  and  the  scorpion  sign, 

Wherein  all  things  created  first  he  weighed, 

The  pendulous  round  earth  with  balanced  air 

In  counterpoise,  now  ponders  all  events, 

Battles  and  realms  :  in  these  he  put  two  weights, 

The  sequel  each  of  parting  and  of  fight ; 

The  latter  quick  up  flew,  and  kick't  the  beam.  .  .  . 

The  Fiend  lookt  up  and  knew 
His  mounted  scale  aloft :  nor  more ;  but  fled 
Murmuring,  and  with  him  fled  the  shades  of  night. 

Sir  John  Seeley  tells  us  he  could  never  read  this 
''myth"  without  shuddering.  The  shudder  was  due  to 
his  mistaking  for  a  myth  what  is  really  a  fine  stroke  of 
imaginative  picturing,  intensified  by  echoes  extending 
to  every  quarter  of  thought.  The  night  in  Paradise, 
with  Angels  watching  over  sleeping  innocence,  brings 
the  most  mighty  forces  into  hostile  meeting,  yet  the 
incidents  are  all  carefully  kept  silent  and  shadowy,  as 
if  they  might  be  parts  of  some  nightmare  dream.  It 
is  in  the  spirit  of  such  nightmare  dream  that  the  move- 
ment advances  nearer  and  nearer  to  some  unspeakable 
shock,  yet,  ere  the  shock  is  reached,  a  mystic  sign  in 
heaven  is  interposed,  and  the  final  lines,  like  a  moment 
of  waking,  give  us,  as  it  were,  the  nightmare  horror 
vanishing  with  low  murmur,  and  showing  day  at  hand. 
But  this  sudden  sign  in  heaven,  so  harmonious  with  the 
atmosphere  of  the  whole  incident,  is  found  to  be  an 
exact  echo  of  a  favorite  Homeric  detail — Zeus's  bal- 
ance hung  out  in  heaven,  which  makes  fate:  twice 
in  the  Iliad  this  is  used  to  determine  crises  of  destiny, 
and  the  exact  formula  is  echoed  by  Virgil  for  a  crisis  of 
his  story.     But  the  idea  of  the  balance  in  heaven  has 

[210] 


DANTE  AND  MILTON 

many  indirect,  perhaps  for  that  reason  still  more 
beautiful,  echoes.  It  suggests  a  sign  of  the  Zodiac  :  for 
the  constellations  of  heaven  are  faded  myths,  and  the 
Scales  is  a  faint  memento  of  Justice,  or  the  Virgin 
Astrsea,  retreating  from  earth  to  heaven,  with  her 
symbol  of  equity  hung  out  in  heaven  by  her  side. 
Again,  the  association  of  Deity  with  the  balance  has 
spread  its  roots  widely  through  biblical  literature. 
We  recall  from  the  Isaiahan  Rhapsody  how  He 
"hath  measured  the  waters  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand, 
and  meted  out  heaven  with  the  span,  and  compre- 
hended the  dust  of  the  earth  in  a  measure,  and  weighed 
the  mountains  in  scales,  and  the  hills  in  a  balance." 
The  image  is  carried  in  Joh  to  the  first  moment  of 
creation:  ''He  looketh  to  the  ends  of  the  earth,  and 
seeth  under  the  whole  heaven,  to  make  a  weight  for  the 
wind,  yea,  he  meteth  out  the  waters  by  measure."  The 
word  "  ponder  "  comes  to  remind  us,  by  its  etymology, 
how  the  conception  of  the  balance  has  rooted  itself  in 
our  very  language.  Other  associations  follow :  how 
"the  Lord  weigheth  the  spirits,"  "by  Him  actions  are 
weighed."  The  final  word  ''  realms  "  flashes  upon  us 
the  impressive  Belshazzar  story  of  the  Book  of  Daniel, 
where  again  a  visible  sign  from  heaven  pronounces  a 
whole  kingdom  "weighed  in  the  balances  and  found 
wanting." 

I  am  tempted  to  add  one  more  illustration,  if  for  no 
other  reason,  to  remind  the  reader  that  the  classical 
tradition  does  not  end  with  Milton;  the  poetry  of 
Paradise  Lost  becomes  itself  a  subject  of  echoing  to 
such  a  poet  as  Bishop  Bickersteth,  who,  in  Milton's 

[211] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

spirit,  but  two  centuries  in  advance  of  Milton  in 
scholarship,  seeks  a  reconstruction  of  biblical  literary 
details  in  a  consistent  scheme.  The  second  psalm  is 
an  impressive  lyric  picture  of  the  nations  of  the  earth 
raging,  their  kings  and  rulers  taking  counsel  together, 
to  throw  off  the  bonds  of  Jehovah's  Anointed. 

He  that  sitteth  in  the  heavens  shall  laugh : 
The  Lord  shall  have  them  in  derision. 
Then  shall  he  speak  unto  them  in  his  wrath, 
And  vex  them  in  his  sore  displeasure. 

The  passage  is  so  far  echoed  in  Milton  as  to  find  a 
foundation  for  the  use  of  laughter  in  application  to 
God:  — 

Thou  thy  foes 
Justly  hast  in  derision,  and  secure 
Laugh'st  at  their  vain  designs  and  tumults  vain. 

By  Bickersteth  the  imagery  of  the  psalm  is  expanded 
to  an  elaborate  picture,  and  made  the  climax  to  the 
conspiracy  formed  by  the  Empire  of  Darkness ;  suc- 
cessive lines  suggest  echoes  of  the  end  of  Herod,  the 
plague  of  Egyptian  darkness,  the  prophet  Elijah  on 
Mount  Carmel,  and  passage  after  passage  of  the  Book 
of  Revelation,  while  the  opening  simile  is  a  variation 
from  Milton.^ 

He  spake,  and  murmurs  of  assent  not  loud 
But  deep,  —  as  is  the  ocean's  sudden  roar, 
When  a  careering  blast  with  tempest  charged 
Down  rushing  through  the  mountain  gorges  strikes 

^  Yesterday  To-day  and  Forever,  book  vi,  lines  387-427.     For  the 
opening  simile,  compare  Paradise  Lost,  ii.  284. 

[  212  ] 


DANTE  AND  MILTON 

The  waters  of  a  rocky  bay,  whose  cliffs 

And  caves  re-echo  when  the  storm  is  past,  — 

Spread  in  interminable  waves  of  sound 

Along  those  countless  ranks.     Gladly  they  crouch'd, 

As  weaker  spirits  will  crouch,  beneath  the  shade 

Of  wickedness  more  wicked  than  their  own. 

And  called  upon  their  prince  as  God :  when,  lo, 

A  cloud  impenetrable  to  all  light. 

At  first  not  larger  than  the  mystic  hand 

The  prophet's  servant  saw  from  Carmel's  rocks, 

Hung  pois'd  above  the  throne  of  Lucifer, 

And,  spreading  with  the  speed  of  thought,  o'erhung 

The  apostate  annies,  shroud  of  dreadful  gloom, 

Darkness  that  might  be  felt.  .  .  . 

And  for  one  dreadful  hour,  one  of  heaven's  hours, 

None  from  his  seat  arose,  or  station  stirr'd. 

Or  moved  his  lip,  or  trembled.     Terror  froze 

Their  hearts  insensible,  until  a  sound. 

More  terrible  than  thunder,  vibrated 

Through  every  spirit,  Jehovah's  awful  laugh, 

Mocking  their  fears  and  scorning  their  designs, 

The  laughter  of  Eternal  Love  incensed. 

Not  the  bare  meaning  then  of  such  poetry  as  Milton's, 
but  this  supplemented  by  the  reflection  which  the  word- 
ing calls  up  from  the  poetry  of  the  past,  is  what  makes 
the  classical  element  in  literary  art.  Perhaps  this  has 
never  been  more  strongly  stated  than  by  the  late  Pro- 
fessor Conington  in  his  introduction  to  the  Bucolics 
of  Virgil ;  Virgil  is  hardly  second  to  Milton  in  the  way 
he  reflects  the  classical  impulse.  The  commentator 
speaks  in  general  terms  of  the  Augustan  age  attributing 
poetic  originality  to  such  poets  as  Horace  and  Proper- 
tius,  and  to  the  Roman  dramatists,   "specifically  for 

1213] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

having  applied  their  wit  to  the  writings  of  the  Greeks  as 
to  so  much  raw  material."     He  proceeds  :  — 

It  is  one  thing  to  accept  broadly  the  statement  that  Virgil  is  a 
copyist,  and  quite  another  to  follow  him  line  by  line  and  observe 
how  constantly  he  is  thinking  of  his  guide,  looking  to  him  where  a 
simple  reliance  on  nature  would  have  been  not  only  far  better  but  far 
more  easy  and  obvious,  and  on  many  occasions  deviating  from  the 
passage  immediately  before  him  only  to  cast  a  glance  on  some  other 
part  of  his  model.  Tityrus,  Galatea,  Amaryllis,  Corydon,  Thestylis, 
Menalcas,  Damoetas,  Amyntas,  ^Egon,  Daphnis,  Thyrsis,  Micon, 
Lycidas  are  all  names  to  be  found  in  the  muster-roll  of  Theocritus 
.  .  .  Corydon  addresses  Alexis  in  the  language  used  by  Polyphemus 
to  Galatea ;  boasts  in  the  same  way  of  his  thousand  sheep,  and  his 
never-failing  supply  of  milk ;  answers  objections  to  his  personal  ap- 
pearance in  the  same  way  by  an  appeal  to  the  ocean  mirror ;  paints 
in  similar  colours  the  pleasures  of  a  rural  life ;  glances  similarly  at 
the  pets  he  is  rearing  for  his  love :  and  finally  taxes  himself  for  his 
folly,  and  reminds  himself  that  there  are  other  loves  to  be  found  in 
the  world,  in  language  which  is  as  nearly  as  may  be  a  translation 
from  the  eleventh  Idyl.  .  .  .  Even  this  enumeration  must  fail  to 
give  any  notion  of  the  numberless  instances  of  incidental  imitation, 
sometimes  in  a  single  line,  sometimes  in  the  mere  turn  of  an  expres- 
sion, which  fill  up  as  it  were  the  broader  outlines  of  the  copy.  And 
yet  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  Virgil  ranked  as  an  original  poet  in  his 
own  judgment  no  less  than  in  that  of  his  contemporaries,  and  that 
on  the  strength  of  those  very  appropriations  which  would  stamp  a 
modern  author  with  the  charge  of  plagiarism. 

Speaking  of  Virgil's  relation  to  Greek  writers  in  general, 
he  proceeds :  — 

He  had  doubtless  lived  from  boyhood  in  their  world;  and  their 
world  accordingly  became  a  sort  of  second  nature  to  him  —  a  store- 
house of  fife  and  truth  and  beauty,  the  standard  to  which  he  brought 
conceptions  and  images  as  they  rose  up  within  him.  .  .  . 

[214] 


DANTE  AND   MILTON 

He  instances  Virgil's  practice  of  using  a  local  epithet 
where  there  is  no  special  reason  for  it,  and  continues  :  — 

What  appropriateness  can  there  be  in  describing  the  hedge  which 
separates  Tityrus'  farm  from  his  neighbour's  as  having  its  willow- 
blossoms  fed  upon  by  bees  of  Hybla,  or  in  the  wish  that  the  swarms 
which  Mseris  has  to  look  after  may  avoid  the  yews  of  Corsica  ?  The 
epithet  here  is  significant  not  to  the  reader  but  to  the  poet,  or  to  the 
reader  only  so  far  as  he  happens  to  share  in  the  poet's  intellectual 
antecedents;  it  appeals  not  to  a  first-hand  appreciation  of  the 
characteristics  of  natural  objects,  such  as  is  open  to  all,  but  to  infor- 
mation gained  from  reading  or  travel  and  therefore  confined  to  a 
few.  .  .  .  There  are  some  minds  which  are  better  calculated,  at 
least  in  youth,  to  be  impressed  by  the  inexhaustibleness  of  Art  than 
by  the  infinity  of  Nature.  .  .  .  Over  such  minds  the  recollection  of 
a  word  in  a  book  has  the  same  power  which  others  find  in  a  remem- 
bered sight  or  sound.  It  recalls  not  only  its  own  image,  but  the 
images  which  were  seen  in  company  with  it;  nay,  it  may  touch 
yet  longer  trains  of  association  and  come  back  upon  the  memory 
with  something  like  the  force  of  the  entire  body  of  impressions  origi- 
nally excited  by  the  work  which  happens  to  contain  it.  Even  those 
who  have  held  more  direct  intercourse  with  nature  are  not  insensible 
to  the  operation  of  this  secondary  charm.  Can  any  one  who  reads 
Milton  doubt  that  the  mere  sound  of  the  stately  names  of  classic 
history  and  mythology  exercised  a  real  influence  on  the  poet's  fancy  ? 

These  extracts  from  Conington  bring  out  forcibly  two 
characteristics  of  the  classical  tradition  :  how  each  poet 
constitutes  so  much  raw  material  upon  which  future 
poets  may  work;  how  again  the  whole  body  of  past 
literature  becomes  to  poets  and  readers  a  second  nature, 
and  fidelity  to  this  literary  inheritance  has  much  of  the 
effect  that  we  call  truth  to  nature  in  the  other  sense  of 
the  word.  There  is  yet  another  consideration.  The 
question  is  not  of  history,  nor  the  dramatization  of  ex- 

[215] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

perience,  but  for  the  most  part  of  purely  creative  poetry, 
that  appeals  solely  to  the  imagination.  Now  whatever 
of  familiarity  can  be  given  to  the  details  is  so  much  as- 
sistance to  the  effort  of  imagination.  We  may  say  that 
what  evidence  is  in  the  world  of  fact,  associations  with 
previous  poetry  are  in  the  world  of  creative  imagination. 
This  point  has  a  special  bearing  upon  one  element  of 
the  Paradise  Lost.  Dante,  we  have  seen,  constructs  his 
universe  on  the  basis  of  the  Ptolemaic  astronomy :  in 
his  day  there  was  no  other.  It  is  different  with  Milton : 
he  lives  in  the  days  of  the  new  science ;  he  is  a  universal 
scholar,  and  has  been  in  personal  contact  with  Galileo 
himself.  Never  was  a  creative  poet  placed  in  a  greater 
dilemma.  If  he  follows  Dante  and  the  Ptolemaic  sys- 
tem, he  is  false  to  what  he  knows  as  scientific  truth ;  if, 
on  the  other  hand,  he  embodies  in  his  poem  the  Co- 
pernican  structure  of  the  world,  he  cuts  his  creative  pic- 
ture adrift  from  all  poetic  associations,  and  leaves  it 
hanging  unsupported  in  the  world  of  imagination. 
Milton  solves  the  difficulty  and  makes  it  the  source  of 
additional  poetic  effects.  In  the  Divine  Comedy  the 
traveller  through  the  universe  is  the  poet  himself,  and  all 
description  of  things  comes  with  the  poet's  authority. 
No  description  of  the  universe  comes  directly  from  Mil- 
ton. Most  of  what  we  get  comes  indirectly,  as  we  follow 
the  journey  of  Satan  through  the  world ;  and  this  is  in 
full  harmony  with  the  arrangement  of  the  old  astronomy. 
For  the  Ptolemaic  system  is  the  systematization  of  ap- 
pearances :  all  that  our  senses  tell  of  the  outside  world 
is  explained  on  this  basis.  It  is  when  reflection  is  added 
to  sense  impression  that  need  arises  for  the  new  astron- 

[216] 


DANTE  AND  MILTON 

omy,  which  accounts  both  for  the  visible  appearances 
and  the  difficulties  suggested  by  reflection.  This  new 
astronomy  is  not  ignored  in  Milton's  poem,  but  comes 
as  a  suggestion  of  angelic  intelligence.  In  the  eighth 
book  Adam  puts  to  his  angel  guest  a  difficulty  that  has 
troubled  him  in  his  observation  of  the  heavens. 

When  I  behold  this  goodly  frame,  this  World 
Of  Heav'n  and  Earth  consisting,  and  compute 
Their  magnitudes,  this  Earth,  a  spot,  a  grain. 
An  atom,  with  the  firmament  compared, 
And  all  her  numbered  stars,  that  seem  to  roll 
Spaces  incomprehensible  (for  such 
Their  distance  argues,  and  their  swift  return 
Diurnal)  merely  to  officiate  light 
Round  this  opacous  Earth,  this  punctual  spot. 
One  day  and  night ;  in  all  their  vast  survey 
Useless  besides ;  reasoning  I  oft  admire, 
How  Nature  wise  and  frugal  could  commit 
Such  disproportions. 

Raphael  points  out  at  length  how  this  criticism  upon 
Nature  rests  solely  on  the  appearance  of  things,  and  at 
last  opens  out  the  other  possibility. 

What  if  the  sun 
Be  centre  to  the  world,  and  other  stars 
By  his  attractive  virtue  and  their  own 
Incited,  dance  about  him  various  rounds  ? 
Their  wandering  course,  now  high,  now  low,  then  hid. 
Progressive,  retrograde,  or  standing  still, 
In  six  thou  seest,  and  what  if  seventh  to  these 
The  planet  Earth,  so  steadfast  though  she  seem. 
Insensibly  three  different  motions  move  ? 

Few  passages  of  the  poem  are  more  beautifully  worded 
than  that  in  which  angelic  intelligence  unfolds  the  new 

[217  1 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

reading  of  the  visible  heavens  to  one  who  hears  the 
strange  suggestion  for  the  first  time. 

But  whether  thus  these  things,  or  whether  not, 
Whether  the  Sun  predominant  in  heaven 
Rise  on  the  Earth,  or  Earth  rise  on  the  Sun ; 
He  from  the  east  his  flaming  road  begin, 
Or  she  from  west  her  silent  course  advance 
With  inoffensive  pace  that  spinning  sleeps 
On  her  soft  axle,  while  she  paces  even. 
And  bears  thee  soft  with  the  smooth  air  along. 
Solicit  not  thy  thoughts  with  matters  hid. 

It  has  not  been  a  single  feature  of  style  that  we  have 
been  discussing  at  all  this  length.  Sensitiveness  to  lit- 
erary reminiscences  is  the  connective  bond  of  the  whole 
classical  tradition  in  literature ;  Milton  at  once  carries 
this  to  its  furthest  point,  and  extends  it  over  the  sacred 
literature  of  the  Bible.  And  this  is  an  element  of  poetic 
art  which  we  are  in  danger  of  losing.  There  are  those 
at  the  present  time  who,  to  meet  difficulties  of  educa- 
tional pressure,  give  the  advice  to  let  the  classics  go, 
and  concentrate  upon  our  own  English  literature. 
They  fail  to  see  that  with  the  loss  of  the  classics  we  lose 
also  the  most  intensely  poetic  element  in  large  part  of 
English  poetry.  For  the  poetic  echo  is  not  a  thing  that 
can  be  dealt  with  by  footnotes  and]  explanations.  It  is 
a  matter  of  experience  —  which,  I  fear,  the  preceding 
pages  have  illustrated  —  that  the  clumsiness  of  having 
to  point  out  literary  reminiscences  blurs  their  charm. 
They  are  like  overtones  in  music.  We  know  that  every 
sound  heard  by  the  ear  as  a  note  of  distinct  pitch  is 
accompanied  with  various  sets  of  harmonics ;   none  of 

[  218  ] 


DANTE  AND  MILTON 

these  harmonics  are  audible  in  themselves,  yet  they  de- 
termine altogether  the  timbre  of  the  note,  making  all 
the  difference  between  the  sound  heard  in  sonorous 
brass,  or  vibrating  wire,  or  clear  flute,  or  liquid  violin. 
The  advice  to  let  the  classics  go  is  like  a  suggestion  in 
music  to  save  the  great  expense  of  an  orchestra,  and 
let  us  have  our  symphonic  compositions  played  from 
piano  score.  The  compromise  will  not  serve.  It  is  only 
when  the  romantic  momentum  towards  freedom  and 
novelty  is  balanced  by  the  classical  gravitation  to  the 
poetic  past  that  we  have  the  fulness  and  sanity  of 
literary  art. 

This  is  no  place  for  the  full  characterization  of  poets 
like  Dante  and  Milton,  or  their  great  masterpieces. 
The  purpose  of  the  chapter  has  been  to  emphasize  the 
antithesis  of  the  two  poems  as  constituting  in  their  com- 
bination an  integral  part  of  our  world  literature.  In  the 
Divine  Comedy  we  have  the  richest  treasure  of  poetic 
symbolism ;  to  read  it,  moreover,  is  to  follow  the  best 
thinking  of  the  Middle  Ages  and  the  era  of  pure  Cathol- 
icism. The  Paradise  Lost  is  the  gift  to  world  literature 
of  Protestantism  in  its  fulness,  not  disintegrated  into  its 
warring  sections.  When  the  empire  was  Christianized, 
as  remarked  before,  Rome  was  grafted  upon  the  biblical 
tree;  Hellenic  and  Hebraic  entered  upon  their  slow 
cooperation.  When  the  Renaissance  attained  its  full 
consummation,  the  Paradise  Lost  presented  the  Bible 
as  entering  into  classical  literature;  Hellenic  and  He- 
braic are  seen  in  their  richest  combination. 

[219] 


CHAPTER  V 

THE   FIVE    LITERARY   BIBLES 

Versions  of  the  Faust  Story 

THE  Story  of  Faust  has  plausible  claims  to  be  ranked 
as  the  greatest  of  stories  :  witness  the  appeal  it  has 
made  to  the  greatest  poetic  minds.  Marlowe,  only  peer 
of  Shakespeare  in  his  own  age;  Calderon,  supreme 
dramatist  of  Catholic  Spain ;  Goethe,  the  centre  and 
rallying-point  for  the  gospel  of  culture  which  inspired 
the  close  of  the  eighteenth  and  opening  of  the  nine- 
teenth centuries;  Philip  Bailey,  prophet  of  modern 
mysticism,  as  to  whom  there  is  a  tradition  that  Tenny- 
son declined  to  characterize  his  poem  lest  he  should 
seem  to  be  using  language  of  adulation  —  all  these  have 
given  us  versions  of  Faust ;  while  two  of  them,  Goethe 
and  Bailey,  have  kept  the  Faust  Story  by  them  as  life 
companions,  reading  into  this  one  creation  what  in- 
spiration they  received  from  successive  phases  of  their 
own  personal  lives,  from  fresh  youth  to  mature  old  age. 
There  has  been  a  similar  appeal  to  the  great  masters  of 
music.  Of  the  Germans,  Spohr  and  Schumann ;  of  the 
French,  Gounod  and  Berlioz ;  of  the  Italians,  Boito  — 
all  have  translated  the  Faust  Story  into  music  :  if  little 
has  been  heard  of  the  Spohr  version,  yet  the  rest  have 

[220] 


THE  STORY  OF  FAUST 

been  accepted  as  masterpieces  of  musical  drama.  What 
is  there  in  this  Faust  Story  that  has  proved  such  a  fas- 
cination for  so  many  great  masters  ? 

Reduced  to  its  lowest  terms,  the  Story  of  Faust  is  an 
attempt  to  realize  in  concrete  life  one  of  the  simplest 
verses  of  Scripture :  What  shall  it  profit  a  man,  if  he 
gain  the  whole  world,  and  lose  his  soul?  Familiarity 
has  dulled  the  edge  of  this  biblical  aphorism ;  if  we  press 
its  language,  the  short  verse  is  seen  to  involve  three 
ideas  of  colossal  import,  alike  to  the  thinker  and  to  the 
poetic  interpreter  of  life.  First :  What  is  it  to  gain  the 
whole  world?  The  gain  of  a  fortune  or  a  kingdom  is 
enough  for  most  stories ;  the  gaining  of  the  whole  world 
tasks  the  imagination  to  its  depths  to  find  for  it  any 
visible  form  in  which  it  can  be  intelligibly  embodied. 
Again,  it  is  a  sufficiently  serious  question.  What  is  it  to 
lose  the  soul  ?  But  a  third  stumbling-block  to  the  im- 
agination lurks  in  the  word  "  profit  "  :  the  conception 
of  barter,  gain  and  loss,  the  machinery  of  the  market,  in 
association  with  such  ideas  as  the  world  and  the  soul. 
Yet  whoever  would  narrate  or  present  the  Story  of  Faust 
must  find  some  means  of  realizing  these  three  ideas : 
they  are  the  three  inevitable  heads  of  the  poetic  sermon. 
Thus,  to  follow  the  Story  of  Faust  through  its  different 
versions  is  not  merely  a  curiosity  of  comparative  litera- 
ture. It  means  our  watching  the  most  widely  sundered 
eras  or  schools  of  thought  —  the  first  crude  stage  of  the 
English  Reformation,  Spanish  chivalry  and  devoutness, 
the  many-sided  culture  of  modern  Germany,  mysticism 
in  all  its  brooding  subtlety  —  watching  how  these,  each 
in  its  turn,  will  grapple  with  the  three  fundamental 

[221] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

elements  of  the  story ;  what  philosophic  content  each 
will  put  into  the  three  ideas,  what  poetic  and  dramatic 
machinery  will  be  drawn  upon  to  give  the  ideas  visible 
embodiment.  If,  as  has  been  suggested  in  this  work, 
the  three  notes  of  a  literary  bible  are  width  of  range, 
supreme  literary  excellence,  and  a  measure  of  literary 
unity,  then  there  can  be  no  better  example  of  a  literary 
bible  than  the  versions  of  the  Faust  Story. 


The  legend  has  come  down  to  us  from  the  floating 
literature  of  the  Middle  Ages,  a  period  when  it  was  nat- 
ural to  men  to  do  their  thinking  in  story  form.^  And  to 
that  age  the  three  heads  of  the  sermon  presented  not 
the  shghtest  difficulty :  they  were  commonplaces  of 
mediaeval  thought.  Mediaeval  magic  could  picture  the 
gaining  of  the  whole  world.  The  mediaeval  conception 
of  hell  sufficiently  expressed  the  loss  of  the  soul.  And  as 
to  a  spiritual  market,  it  was  the  commonest  thing  in 
those  times  to  hear  of  men  selling  their  souls  to  the 
Devil.  It  is  when  these  mediaeval  conceptions  pass  into 
periods  which  emphasize  the  idea  of  rationalization 
that  the  literary  interest  of  the  Faust  Story  begins. 
One  however  of  these  three  elements  of  mediaevalism  is 
found  to  cling  to  all  versions  of  the  story ;  this  is  magic. 
Magic  was  the  most  familiar  of  all  things  to  the  mind  of 
the  Middle  Ages.     Christianity  had  not  destroyed,  but 

1  An  account  of  the  Puppet  Play  of  Faust,  and  of  other  early 
versions,  will  be  found  in  T.  C.  H.  Hedderwick's  Doctor  Faust 
(Kegan  Paul)  ;  also  in  an  Appendix  to  Bayard  Taylor's  translation 
of  Goethe's  Faust. 

[222] 


THE  STORY  OF  FAUST 

simply  vanquished  heathendom,  and  the  old  nature 
gods  emerged  as  demons  with  lessened  yet  mighty 
powers ;  magic  was  a  sort  of  anti-religion,  witchcraft 
worshipping  the  Devil  and  his  demons  in  a  parody  of 
the  rites  with  which  the  miracle-working  Church  wor- 
shipped God.  Or  again,  magic  was  the  shadow  cast 
upon  the  mediaeval  imagination  by  the  coming  science : 
wand,  trine,  pentagram,  were  imaginative  distortions 
of  the  apparatus  and  diagrams  of  science;  magical 
charms  and  spells  were  adumbrations  of  scientific 
law.  To  the  modern  world  magic  is  unthinkable.  Yet 
the  Faust  Story  must  retain  it,  because  of  the  sheer  im- 
possibility of  finding  any  other  imaginative  form  in 
which  to  embody  one  of  its  necessary  ideas.  To  stop 
short  of  the  whole  world  as  the  price  of  Faust's  soul  would 
be  to  lose  the  individuality  of  the  story  altogether.  Yet 
how  is  this  to  be  portrayed  ?  Science  has  concentrated 
our  attention  upon  second  causes,  upon  the  linking  of 
means  with  ends  :  the  mind  refuses  to  take  in  a  reticu- 
lated totality  of  means  that  would  compass  a  totality  of 
ends.  But  magic  ignores  all  means ;  it  is  the  elimina- 
tion of  all  that  comes  between  the  will  and  its  instant 
realization;  whoever  has  gained  magic  has  the  whole 
world  at  his  disposal.  Magic  then  becomes  a  necessary 
postulate  for  all  versions  of  the  Faust  Story.  And  in 
the  latest  versions  a  fresh  source  of  interest  is  found  in 
the  special  treatment  designed  to  mask  or  neutralize 
the  incongruous  element  of  magic  in  an  otherwise  ration- 
alized story. 


[223] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

II 

The  Renaissance,  to  which  Marlowe's  Version  be- 
longs, is  an  isthmus  separating  two  vast  tracts  of  time : 
the  Middle  Ages,  of  robust  imagination,  and  our  Mod- 
ern Times,  that  would  reduce  all  things  to  rational  form. 
It  is  natural  that  the  spirit  of  both  these  ages  should  to 
some  extent  be  reflected  in  the  poem  of  the  transition 
period.  The  mediaeval  traditions  are  retained  by  Mar- 
lowe in  their  fulness;  yet  in  the  detailed  treatment  of 
them  there  are  signs  of  incipient  rationalization.  Thus, 
the  magic  of  this  play  is  the  crudest  mediaeval  magic  ; 
yet  a  new  interest  appears  in  the  use  made  of  the  magic 
by  Faustus,  in  the  way  that  his  application  of  it  is  in- 
spired by  nothing  more  than  the  spirit  of  curiosity. 
It  has  been  made  an  objection  to  Marlowe's  play  that  its 
hero,  so  different  from  the  heroes  of  the  other  versions, 
is  a  man  without  character.  But  this  alleged  absence  of 
character  is  in  reality  that  which  makes  Faustus  a  per- 
fect expression  of  the  era  which  produced  the  poem. 
For  besides  the  Renaissance  of  the  thinkers  and  the  ar- 
tists there  was  a  Popular  Renaissance.  The  ideas  that 
were  transforming  history  percolated  down  at  last  to 
the  mind  of  the  masses,  even  to  that  social  stratum  to 
which  the  early  EUzabethan  drama  appealed.  When 
the  discovery  of  the  new  world  had  doubled  the  size  of 
the  habitable  globe,  and  the  new  astronomy  changed 
this  earth  from  the  bottom  of  all  things  to  a  twirling  ball 
in  mid  space,  when  traditions  were  everywhere  breaking 
down  and  men  were  practising  to  walk  by  reason,  it  was 
inevitable   that   a   strong   impression   of   change   and 

[224] 


MARLOWE'S  VERSION  OF  FAUST 

novelty  should  pervade  the  general  mind ;  later  on,  prin- 
ciples would  be  grasped  and  great  popular  movements 
would  arise,  but  at  first  the  Popular  Renaissance  mani- 
fests itself  as  a  spirit  of  curiosity  and  irresponsible 
freshness.  Now,  what  makes  the  whole  personality  of 
Doctor  Faustus  is  just  this  spirit  of  curiosity,  this  ir- 
responsible appetite  of  body  and  mind. 

Shall  I  make  spirits  fetch  me  what  I  please, 
Resolve  me  of  all  ambiguities, 
Perform  what  desperate  enterprise  I  will  ? 
I'll  have  them  fly  to  India  for  gold, 
Ransack  the  ocean  for  orient  pearl, 
And  search  all  corners  of  this  new-found  world 
For  pleasant  fruits  and  princely  dehcates ; 
I'll  have  them  read  me  strange  philosophy, 
And  teU  the  secrets  of  all  foreign  kings ; 
rU  have  them  wall  all  Germany  with  brass, 
And  make  swift  Rhine  circle  fair  Wertenberg ; 
I'U  have  them  fill  the  pubUc  schools  with  silk. 
Wherewith  the  students  shall  be  bravely  clad ; 
I'll  levy  soldiers  with  the  coin  they  bring. 
And  chase  the  Prince  of  Parma  from  our  land, 
And  reign  sole  king  of  all  the  provinces ; 
Yea,  stranger  engines  for  the  brunt  of  war, 
Than  was  the  fiery  keel  at  Antwerp's  bridge, 
I'll  make  my  servile  spirits  to  invent. 

Possessed  of  omnipotent  magic,  Faustus  does  not  use  his 
power  for  profound  speculations,  or  schemes  of  self-ag- 
grandizement ;  he  flits  like  a  bee  from  flower  to  flower 
of  casual  suggestion ;  he  is  ready  to  go  to  hell  for  the 
sake  of  a  new  sensation.  To  just  this  extent,  but  no 
farther,  is  there  a  rationalization  of  the  traditional 
magic.  And  incipient  rationalization  appears  simi- 
Q  I  225  ] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

larly  in  regard  to  another  of  the  necessary  elements  of 
the  Faust  Story.  The  machinery  of  temptation  in  Mar- 
lowe's version  gives  us  the  stock  mediaeval  tempter, 
ready  to  bid  for  the  soul  of  Faustus.  But  Mephis- 
tophilis  appears  as  something  more  than  this.  Totally 
unlike  the  cynical  creation  of  Goethe,  Marlowe's  Meph- 
istophilis  at  times  shows  touches  of  a  highly  spiritual 
being.  He  seems  to  embody  St.  James's  saying,  The 
devils  believe  and  tremble.  Where  Faustus  can  main- 
tain a  jaunty  scepticism,  the  fiend  shudders  at  the  sacred 
mysteries,  flies  from  the  topic  of  God  and  salvation,  and 
— in  violation  of  his  whole  purpose  —  lets  slip  warnings 
of  the  terrible  awakening  in  store  for  his  victim  in  the 
end.  Spiritual  conceptions  are  found  to  play  even 
about  the  topic  of  hell  itself  :  — 

Hell  hath  no  hmits,  nor  is  cu-cumscrib'd 
In  one  self  place ;  for  where  we  are  is  hell, 
And  where  hell  is,  there  must  we  ever  be  : 
And,  to  conclude,  when  all  the  world  dissolves, 
And  every  creature  shall  be  purified, 
AH  places  shall  be  hell  that  are  not  heaven. 

But  it  is  in  reference  to  the  third  of  the  three  motives 
which  make  up  the  story  of  Faust  that  the  rationalizing 
tendency  of  the  present  version  comes  out  most  clearly. 
What  is  it  to  lose  the  soul  ?  The  mediaeval  answer  to 
this  question  is  reserved  by  Marlowe  to  the  end  of  the 
story :  punctually  at  the  close  of  the  twenty-four  years 
visible  fiends  carry  off  Faustus,  body  and  soul,  to  a  ma- 
terial hell.  But  all  through  the  course  of  the  action 
Faustus  is,  in  a  very  different  way,  losing  his  soul. 
Marlowe  has  given  us  here  a  highly  original  dramatiza- 

[226] 


MARLOWE'S  VERSION  OF  FAUST 

tion  of  a  very  commonplace  spiritual  process.  As  a 
matter  of  course,  by  repeated  yieldings  to  sin  the  will 
gradually  loses  its  resisting  power.  To  give  dramatic 
accentuation  to  this,  the  poet  uses  the  same  device  which 
Shakespeare  uses  with  such  art  to  indicate  the  on-com- 
ing madness  of  Lear ;  waves  of  hysteric  passion  sweep 
at  intervals  over  the  hero,  becoming  stronger  and 
stronger,  until,  in  the  one  case,  Lear  is  stark  mad  ;  in  the 
other  case,  Faustus  sinks  helpless  to  his  doom.^  This 
Faustus,  whose  whole  personality  is  the  embodiment  of 
the  spirit  of  curiosity,  is  necessarily  a  man  of  very  mo- 
bile emotions  ;  and  he  has  doomed  himself  to  perdition 
at  the  close  of  a  specified  period.  Inevitably,  during 
the  twenty-four  years,  accidents  from  time  to  time  give 
suggestions  of  repentance,  suggestions  to  be  quickly 
rejected ;  Faustus  is  thus  continually  passing  from  the 
height  of  hope  to  the  depth  of  despair.  Such  sudden 
transitions  in  so  emotional  a  temperament  will  natu- 
rally be  accompanied  with  hysterical  shocks ;  more  and 
more,  as  the  action  proceeds,  spasms  of  physical  suffer- 
ing mark  the  mental  crises.  A  chance  word  of  Mephis- 
tophilis,  that  the  world  was  made  for  man,  rouses 
Faustus  to  a  sudden  resolve;  the  Good  and  Evil 
Angels  contend  over  him,  until  the  Evil  Angel  mut- 
ters, ''Faustus  never  will  repent" :  this  brings  the 
first  of  the  hysteric  shocks,  and  in  an  altered  tone  the 
sinner  realizes  that  his  heart  is  hardened  beyond  the 
power  of  repentance.  Again,  the  refusal  of  the  demon 
to  answer  the  question,  Who  made  the  world  ?  brings  a 
second  burst  of  excitement :  Mephistophilis  holds  up 

*  Compare  my  Shakespeare  as  a  Dramatic  Artist,  pages  209-215. 

[227] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

the  bond,  and  with  an  hysteric  change  of  tone  Faustus 
reahzes  that  he  is  lost.  An  old  man,  met  by  chance, 
makes  a  touchingly  simple  appeal  to  the  hardening  sin- 
ner ;  the  opening  words  of  Faust's  answer  just  fit  the 
awakening  from  a  half-dazing  shock  :  — 

Where  art  thou,  Faustus  ?  wretch,  what  hast  thou  done  ? 
Damn'd  art  thou,  Faustus,  damn'd ;  despair  and  die ! 

In  the  closing  scenes  the  language  is  still  more  pro- 
nounced :  Faustus  would  weep,  but  the  Devil  draws  in 
his  tears ;  he  would  hft  up  his  hands,  but  Lucifer  and 
Mephistophilis  hold  them  down. 

0,  I'll  leap  up  to  my  God  !  —  Who  pulls  me  down  ?  — 
.  .  .    Ah  !  my  Christ !  — 

Ah,  rend  not  my  heart  for  naming  of  my  Christ ! 
Yet  will  I  call  on  him  !  —  0,  spare  me,  Lucifer ! 

It  is  of  course  clear  from  the  dramatic  action  of  the 
scenes  that  nothing  of  what  these  words  imply  is  hap- 
pening :  not  the  slightest  force  is  used  upon  Faustus 
until  the  twenty-four  years  are  fully  expired.  It  is  the 
spasrns  of  physical  agony  in  which  the  hysterical  shocks 
have  culminated  that  Faustus  is  mistaking  for  the  fin- 
gers of  fiends  upon  his  heartstrings.  Faustus  has  been 
all  the  while  arming  his  own  body  to  inhibit  the  motions 
of  his  soul  towards  repentance ;  he  has  committed 
spiritual  suicide  before  the  moment  when  the  devils 
may  claim  him  as  their  own. 

The  final  scene  is  a  dramatic  masterpiece.  The  last 
hour  on  earth  of  a  lost  soul,  instead  of  being  a  hubbub  of 
agony  cries,  is  made  artistically  impressive  by  the  same 
poetic  device  which  is  used  to  introduce  the  climax  to 

[228] 


MARLOWE'S  VERSION  OF  FAUST 

the  Book  of  Job}  A  moving  background  of  nature  en- 
thralls the  attention ;  each  successive  thought  is  sug- 
gested to  Faustus  from  outside.  The  clock  strikes 
eleven  :  unable  to  endure  the  thought  of  the  single  hour 
left  him,  Faustus  —  who  has  always  had  a  gleam  of 
hope  at  the  sight  of  the  heavens — flings  open  the  case- 
ment. He  gazes  upon  a  magnificent  scene  of  starlight : 
each  heavenly  body  hangs  in  space  like  a  golden  ball ; 
only  upon  the  horizon  rests  a  dull,  heavy  bank  of  cloud. 
It  is  not  the  beauty  of  the  scene  that  holds  Faustus's 
thoughts  :  he  seems  to  see  visibly  before  him  the  irresist- 
ible movement  of  time,  and  knows  how  vain  is  his  ap- 
peal to  delay  it. 

The  stars  move  still,  time  runs,  the  clock  will  strike, 
The  devil  will  come  and  Faustus  must  be  damn'd. 
O,  I'll  leap  up  to  my  God  !  —  Who  pulls  me  down  ?  — 

It  is  of  course  one  of  his  hysteric  spasms  that  has  seized 
him ;  when  he  recovers,  he  turns  again  to  the  comfort- 
ing sky.  But  at  that  moment  the  Aurora  Borealis  — 
known  in  the  Middle  Ages  by  the  name  of  the  Blood 
Shower  —  is  streaming  through  the  heavens  :  Faustus 
sees  in  its  name  an  omen  of  hope. 

See,  see,  where  Christ's  blood  streams  in  the  firmament ! 
One  drop  would  save  my  soul,  half  a  drop :  ah,  my  Christ !  — 
Ah,  rend  not  my  heart  for  naming  of  my  Christ !  — 
Yet  will  I  call  on  him :  0,  spare  me,  Lucifer ! 

Dazed  by  the  succession  of  shocks,  he  at  last  has 
strength  enough  to  turn  towards  the  glad  omen.     But 

1  Compare,  in  Modern  Reader's  Bible,  Introduotion  to  Joh,  and 
notes  to  Joh,  sections  xliv  and  xlv. 

[229] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

it  is  gone.  The  Aurora  has  flashed  out  as  rapidly  as  it 
had  streamed  into  the  sky.  And  in  its  place  the  heavy 
bank  of  clouds  has  begun  to  move  up  the  heavens,  blot- 
ting out  star  after  star,  taking  cloud  shapes  of  beethng 
mountains,  yawning  caverns,  threatening  arms. 

Where  is  it  now  ?  'tis  gone :  and  see,  where  God 

Stretcheth  out  his  arm,  and  bends  his  ireful  brows  1 

Mountains  and  hills,  come,  come,  and  fall  on  me, 

And  hide  me  from  the  heavy  wrath  of  God  ! 

No,  no ! 

Then  will  I  headlong  run  into  the  earth : 

Earth,  gape  !     0,  no,  it  will  not  harbour  me  ! 

You  stars  that  reigned  at  my  nativity, 

Whose  influence  hath  allotted  death  and  heU, 

Now  draw  up  Faustus,  hke  a  foggy  mist. 

Into  the  entrails  of  yon  labouring  cloud, 

That,  when  you  vomit  forth  into  the  air. 

My  limbs  may  issue  from  your  smoky  mouths, 

So  that  my  soul  may  but  ascend  to  heaven  ! 

The  clock  strikes  the  half  hour :  thoughts  of  halving, 
of  dividing,  eternity  rush  through  the  sufferer's  brain : 
might  Faustus  live  in  hell  a  thousand  years,  or  a  hun- 
dred thousand,  and  at  last  be  saved  !  The  clock  strikes 
twelve.  As  if  at  a  signal,  the  first  blast  of  the  coming 
tempest  rocks  the  house  to  and  fro  :  — 

Now,  body,  turn  to  air, 
Or  Lucifer  wiU  bear  thee  quick  to  hell ! 

The  deluge  of  rain  comes  pattering  upon  the  roof :  — 

0  soul,  be  chang'd  into  little  water-drops, 
And  faU  into  the  ocean,  ne'er  be  found  ! 
[230] 


THE  CALDERON  VERSION  OF  FAUST 

The  whole  sky  becomes  one  sheet  of  flame  full  in  the  face 
of  Faustus :  — 

My  God,  my  God,  look  not  so  fierce  on  me ! 

Then  the  forked  lightning  writhes  and  quivers  in  flame 
tongues  about  him :  — 

Adders  and  serpents,  let  me  breathe  a  while  ! 

Another  flash  seems  to  rend  the  whole  sky  in  twain  :  — 

Ugly  hell,  gape  not ! 
Yet,  more  dread  than  the  storm  on  which  he  is  gazing, 
Faustus  is  conscious  that  the  room  behind  him  is  filling 
with  Presences  :   without  looking  round  he  cries  :  — 
Come  not,  Lucifer ! 
I'll  burn  my  books  ! 
A  strange  fascination  forces  him  to  turn  and  behold 
his  fate  :  more  terrible  to  Faustus  than  Lucifer  himself, 
what  he  sees  is  the  old  familiar  figure,  in  the  old  place, 
holding  up  that  Bond  which  Faustus  has  himself  signed. 
With  his  ''Ah,  Mephistophilis ! "  the  scene  closes. 

Ill 

Spain,  marked  off  by  its  geographical  situation  from 
the  rest  of  Europe,  stamps  upon  each  successive  phase 
of  the  general  history  an  individuality  of  its  own.  There 
is  thus  a  Spanish  Renaissance ;  and  its  spirit  is  reflected 
in  Calderon's  version  of  the  Faust  Story.  ^  We  have 
exalted    sentiments  —  of    chivalry,    of    gallantry,    of 

1 1  assume  the  Fitzgerald  version  of  Calderon's  play  (below,  page 
485) .  This  is  something  more  than  a  translation :  an  example  of 
the  "mediating  interpretation"  discussed  below,  pages  311-2. 

[231] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

knowledge  —  fused  in  an  ardor  of  religious  devotion, 
devotion  of  course  of  the  Catholic  type.  In  any 
version  of  the  story  Christian  theology  must  play 
a  part ;  in  the  Mighty  Magician  we  find  successive 
articles  of  the  faith  dilated  upon  for  page  after  page 
with  untiring  enthusiasm,  a  devout  exuberance  reflect- 
ing audiences  that  only  Spain  could  produce.  It  is 
again  the  religious  aspect  of  magic  which  is  prominent ; 
nature  powers  are  seen  as  the  evil  counterpart  to  the 
sacred  might  of  the  holy  religion.  Lucifer  acknowl- 
edges himself  as  Antichrist,  as  Satan,  as  the  Serpent, 
as  the  one  who  tempted  the  first  father  of  mankind, 
and  vainly  tempted  its  God  in  his  human  form ;  he  is 
the  Son  of  the  Morning,  fallen  from  heaven,  and  going 
to  and  fro  in  the  earth,  armed  with  the  very  instrument 
of  hate  that  blasted  him  —  hghtning  anticipates  his 
coming  and  the  thunder  rolls  behind.  He  has  thus 
become  the  god  of  the  lower  world  :  '^if  false  god,  true 
devil."  He  makes  his  appearance  to  the  hero  as  a 
"portentous  glomeration  of  the  storm  darkly  cast  in 
human  form."  As  feats  sampling  his  powers,  he  speaks 
a  word  to  the  raging  tempest,  and  — 

—  the  word  scarce  fallen  from  his  lips, 
Swift  almost  as  a  human  smile  may  chase 
A  frown  from  some  concihated  face, 
The  world  to  concord  from  confusion  slips : 
The  winds  that  blew  the  battle  up,  dead  slain, 
Or  with  their  tatter'd  standards  swept  amain 
From  heav'n ;  the  billows  of  the  erected  deep 
Roll'd  with  their  crests  into  the  foaming  plain ; 
While  the  scared  earth  begins  abroad  to  peep 
And  smooth  her  ruffled  locks. 
[232] 


THE  CALDERON  VERSION  OF  FAUST 

Or  again,  he  bids  the  distant  mountain  sHp  its  granite 
anchor  that  stands  fast  in  creation's  centre,  and  ap- 
proach, with  all  its  cleaving  tackle  of  pine  top-gallanted 
with  cloud  and  forest-canvas  squaring,  until  it  stops 
at  the  moment  of  command.  Yet  another  manifesta- 
tion of  the  reUgious  spirit  has  a  distinctive  and  special 
interest.  It  is  natural  that  a  Faust  should  be  exhibited 
as  touched  with  religious  scepticism.  But  this  Spanish 
version  carries  the  story  back  in  time  to  a  point  where 
paganism  is  dominant,  and  Christianity  is  regarded  by 
those  around  as  a  kind  of  sorcery;  we  thus  get,  as 
it  were,  scepticism  inverted,  drawing  Cipriano  away 
from  the  reigning  paganism,  to  the  very  threshold  of 
the  Christian  verities. 

It  is  religious  sentiment  then  that  gives  the  main 
color  to  Calderon's  version  of  the  Faust  Story.  But 
it  is  characteristically  Spanish  that  with  this  is  blended 
romantic  gallantry;  for  the  first  time  a  love  passion 
becomes  a  motive  in  the  temptation  of  Faust.  It 
gives  a  double  plot  to  the  play ;  and  the  two  elements 
are  clearly  woven  together  by  the  opening  situation. 
From  sceptical  disputations  Cipriano  is  drawn  by  an 
impending  duel  between  two  of  his  young  friends, 
rivals  for  the  love  of  the  Christian  beauty,  Justina. 
With  chivalrous  delicacy,  to  save  the  maiden's  good 
name  from  public  scandal,  Cipriano  offers  himself  as  a 
safe  intermediary,  to  explore  the  state  of  things.  The 
tempter  standing  by  sees  a  chance  to  secure  two 
victims  by  a  single  stroke. 

By  the  quick  feelers  of  iniquity 

That  from  hell's  mouth  reach  through  this  lower  world, 
[  233  ] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

And  tremble  to  the  lightest  touch  of  mischief, 

Warn'd  of  an  active  spirit  hereabout 

Of  the  true  God  inquisitive,  and  restless 

Under  the  false  by  which  I  rule  the  world, 

Here  am  I  come  to  test  it  for  myself. 

And  lo  !  two  fools  have  put  into  my  hand 

The  snare  that,  wanting  most,  I  might  have  miss'd ; 

That  shall  not  him  alone  enmesh,  but  her 

Whom  I  have  long  and  vainly  from  the  ranks 

Striv'n  to  seduce  of  Him,  the  woman-born.  .  .  . 

Each  other  by  each  other  snaring ;  yea, 

Either  at  once  the  other's  snare  and  prey. 

The  cross-action  of  a  double  plot  stands  clearly  revealed. 
The  magic  of  Lucifer  avails  so  far  as  to  inspire  the 
irresistible  love  at  first  sight :  a  love  which  the  circum- 
stances make  dishonorable,  since  Cipriano  presents 
himself  as  an  intermediary  for  others.  By  such  mutual 
passion  the  two  are  to  be  seduced,  alike  from  piety  and 
purity. 

When  we  turn  to  the  foundation  elements  of  the 
Faust  Story,  the  gaining  of  the  whole  world  and  the 
losing  of  the  soul,  what  we  see  in  this  version  is  a  world 
gained  and  then  lost,  a  soul  lost  and  then  regained. 
And  love  is  the  spring  which  sets  the  whole  movement 
at  work.  A  year's  apprenticeship  to  Lucifer,  deep 
down  in  the  bowels  of  the  earth,  has  enabled  Cipriano, 
when  he  emerges,  to  wield  the  whole  chain  of  forces 
that  make  up  Nature.  But  to  Cipriano  the  whole 
world  has  come  to  mean  simply  Justina.  All  the  force 
of  magic  is  brought  to  bear  upon  an  innocent  Christian 
maiden  ;  Cipriano,  working  with  circle,  pentagram,  and 
trine,  seeks  to  draw  her  to  him,  while  Lucifer  whispers 

[234] 


THE  CALDERON   VERSION   OF  FAUST 

in  the  sleeping  Justina's  ear,  and  strives  to  break  her 
virgin  constancy.  It  is  a  problem  of  the  stage  how  to 
present  the  phenomenon  of  dreaming.  Lucifer  is  seen 
whispering;  invisible  assistants  follow  his  lead  with 
spirit  music.  What  all  this  presents  to  the  reader  is  a 
lovely  picture  of  Spring,  of  the  world  renewing  itself 
with  sunshine  and  with  leaf,  of  the  kingdom  of  the  rose 
and  the  nightingale,  and  the  flower  that  ever  turns 
adoringly  with  the  sun.  What  it  conveys  to  the  mind 
of  Justina  we  know  by  the  mutterings  of  the  sleeper : 
her  thoughts  have  been  led  to  the  long  struggle  she  has 
secretly  waged  —  she  hears  the  old  serenading  hymns ; 
sees  the  scholarly  figure  as  if  reading  under  a  tree, 
deadly  pale  and  still  as  a  statue ;  she  is  conscious  of  the 
street,  and  the  faces  eying  her,  and  the  cries  as  to  what 
has  become  of  Cipriano.  She  wakes ;  and  the  figure 
beside  her  bed  proclaims  himself  her  guardian  angel, 
ready  to  conduct  her  to  the  man  she  desires. 

Justina.     'Twas  all  a  dream  !  — 

Lucifer.  That  dreaming  you  fulfill. 

Justina.     Oh,  no,  with  all  my  waking  soul  renounce. 
Luciftr.     But,  dreaming  or  awake,  the  soul  is  one. 

And  the  deed  purposed  in  Heaven's  eyes  is  done. 
Justina.     Oh  Christ  !     I  cannot  argue  —  I  can  pray  ! 

At  the  word  the  tempter  is  gone.  Meanwhile  Cipriano, 
working  his  magic  spells,  has  seen  the  veiled  Justina 
approach;  as  he  opens  his  arms  to  embrace  her,  the 
veiled  figure  discloses  a  skeleton,  and  flies  shuddering 
down  the  wind,  with  mutterings  of  Dust,  Ashes,  Dust ! 
The  shock  has  dissolved  all  sensual  passion ;  in  the 
wildest  of  scenes  Cipriano  demands  of    the  sneering 

[235] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

Lucifer  the  meaning  of  it  all,  what  is  the  ''slight  impedi- 
ment" that  has  blasted  the  love-charm  into  an  agony. 
When  other  means  of  wringing  an  answer  to  this  ques- 
tion have  failed,  Cipriano  adjures  Lucifer  ''by  the 
Power  that  saved  Justina":  amid  thunder  and  light- 
ning the  demon  is  compelled  to  name  Jesus  Christ, 
and  must  dolefully  answer  Yea,  Yea,  Yea,  to  each 
passionately  recited  article  of  the  holy  faith.  In  each 
case  it  is  the  simple  magic  of  the  supreme  name  that 
has  shattered  in  an  instant  the  omnipotence  of  demonic 
magic. 

How  stands  it  then  with  the  soul  of  Cipriano  ? 
By  covenant  written  in  his  own  blood  he  has  voluntarily 
surrendered  himself;  to  regain  the  soul  so  nearly  lost 
he  offers,  not  redeeming  blood  alone,  but  the  blood  of 
his  own  martyrdom.  He  plunges  into  the  hall  of  jus- 
tice, shouts  his  confession  into  the  general  ear  of 
Antioch,  and  imperiously  demands  his  execution.  As 
he  is  left  to  his  fate  in  the  deserted  judgment-hall, 
Justina  passes  into  it  on  her  way  to  the  scaffold.  The 
strangest  of  love-scenes  follows.  On  the  brink  of 
martyrdom  for  her  faith,  Justina  spends  her  last 
moments  in  contact  with  the  noble  personality  to 
fight  against  whose  love  has  been  the  tragedy  of  her 
life.  She  recovers  him  from  his  swoon ;  hears  the 
marvellous  experience  by  which  he  has  been  brought 
across  the  gulf  that  separates  pagan  from  Christian. 
From  the  superior  height  of  her  lifelong  piety  she 
ministers  comfort  to  the  religious  novice,  trembling 
with  doubts  of  an  unpardonable  sin,  and  brings  him 
up  to  her  own  standard  of  rapturous  martyrdom. 

[2361 


GOETHE'S  VERSION  OF  FAUST 

Oh,  we  shall  die, 
And  go  to  heav'n  together ! 

Secure  of  heavenly  mercy,  Cipriano  is  yet  weighed 
down  with  the  thought  of  his  earthly  offence  against 
the  purity  of  Justina.  But  they  are  on  the  threshold 
of  death :  Justina's  secret  may  be  told. 

My  Cipriano ! 
Dost  thou  remember,  in  the  lighter  hour  — 
Then  when  my  heart,  although  you  saw  it  not. 
All  the  while  yearn 'd  to  thee  across  the  gulf 
That  yet  it  dared  not  pass  —  my  telling  thee 
That  only  Death,  which  others  disunites, 
Should  ever  make  us  one  ?     Behold  !  and  now 
The  hour  is  come,  and  I  redeem  my  vow. 


IV 

The  passage  from  earlier  versions  to  Goethe's  poem 
on  Faust  is  the  passage  from  the  naivety  and  sentiment 
of  adolescence  to  the  rounded  fulness  of  maturity. 
The  poem  is  the  product  and  expression  of  Culture : 
of  all  that  the  most  modern  age  can  put  into  the  mean- 
ing of  that  word.  Moreover,  Culture  appears  as  a 
supreme  motive  of  life.  Harmoniously  to  develop  all 
our  faculties  and  powers,  when  fully  developed  to  press 
these  evenly  in  all  directions,  this  may  well  become  a 
dominant  purpose ;  in  comparison  with  this,  the  special 
motives  which  may  lead  others  to  give  their  souls  — 
mammon,  war,  patriotism,  the  wresting  from  nature  of 
her  secrets,  all  the  traditional  causes  which  raise  ban- 
ners and  demand  votaries  —  all  these  may  fall  into  a 

[237] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

second  place.  The  passion  of  love,  once  introduced 
into  the  Faust  Story  by  Calderon,  never  leaves  it ;  but 
in  Goethe's  version  the  love  passion  becomes  only  an 
episode.  This  broad  conception  of  culture  carries  with 
it  a  spiritual  problem  of  profound  import.  Are  there 
any  bounds  to  such  self-development  ?  In  the  field 
of  culture  does  the  end  justify  the  means  ?  Or  are  we 
to  say,  with  Milton  :  — 

Knowledge  is  as  food,  and  needs  no  less 
Her  temperance  over  appetite,  to  know 
In  measure  what  the  mind  may  well  contain ; 
Oppresses  else  with  surfeit ;  and  soon  turns 
Wisdom  to  folly  as  nourishment  to  wind. 

The  conception  of  limitations  upon  knowledge  is  read 
by  Milton,  with  great  skill,  into  the  ''forbidden  fruit" 
of  the  Bible  story.^  Goethe's  treatment  of  the  idea  is 
skilful  in  another  way  :  he  connects  it  with  what  is  the 
standing  difficulty  of  the  Faust  Story  —  the  element 
of  magic.  The  traditionary  forms  of  magic  we  have 
had  in  other  versions  appear  here ;  but  there  is  some- 
thing more,  and  magic  is  accepted  as  a  dramatic  symbol 
for  illegitimate  sources  of  knowledge.  The  Faust  of 
Goethe,  like  Doctor  Faustus,  has  run  through  the 
circle  of  the  sciences  ;  but,  unlike  Faustus,  he  is  further 
a  man  of  artistic  sensibilities,  profoundly  sympathetic 
with  human  nature,  and  a  toiler  in  the  cause  of  the 
distressed.  But  at  the  opening  of  the  poem  he  has 
passed  into  the  state  of  mind  in  which  all  things  — 

^  Compare  such  passages  of  Paradise  Lost  as  iv.  222,  vii.  542,  viii. 
323,  xi.  87-89. 

12381 


GOETHE'S  VERSION  OF  FAUST 

even  culture  —  appear  vanity.  It  is  sheer  sincerity 
of  mind  and  heart,  dissatisfaction  with  the  specious 
knowledge  under  which  science  veils  its  ignorance  of 
deepest  things,  that  leads  Faust  to  what  the  conven- 
tions of  the  story  present  as  illegitimate  modes  of 
knowing.  Magic  is  thus,  as  regards  the  spectacle  of 
the  play,  all  that  it  has  been  in  the  other  versions,  with 
the  addition  of  a  Mephistophelean  irony  played  upon 
it  by  the  very  magician  who  works  it ;  as  regards  the 
underlying  philosophy,  magic  stands  for  all  that  may 
be  beyond  the  bounds  of  lawful  knowledge.  It  is  like 
the  X  of  an  algebraic  problem,  the  relation  of  which 
with  other  things  may  be  fully  elaborated  without 
stopping  to  determine  what  x  is,  or  whether  x  has  any 
real  existence.  Faust  risks  his  soul  —  if  there  be  any 
risk  —  for  culture. 

As  to  the  poetic  form  of  Goethe's  Faust,  there  is  no 
need  for  critics  to  discuss  it,  since  it  has  been  formulated 
in  the  poem  itself.  The  Prelude  on  the  Stage  an- 
nounces it  as  German  Drama.  What  German  Drama 
is  to  mean  is  brought  out  by  brilliant  dialogue  between 
three  speakers.  The  Manager  stands  for  unlimited 
stage  action  and  spectacle ;  the  Poet  represents  phil- 
osophical speculation  as  well  as  creative  beauty; 
Merry-Andrew  insists  upon  the  relief  element  at  all 
points.  Free  spectacle,  free  philosophy,  free  humor : 
these  are  the  determinants  of  this  German  Drama. 

To  this  long,  elaborate,  subtle  poem  of  Goethe  the 
simple  formula  of  the  general  Faust  Story  can  be 
rigidly  applied.  Only,  as  is  natural,  each  separate 
element  of  the  formula  in  this  case  expands  itself  to 

[239] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

something  complex.^  It  is  best  to  take  the  three  parts 
of  the  formula  separately.  And  first,  that  which  is 
concerned  with  the  machinery  of  temptation. 

Mephistopheles  is  the  most  successful  stroke  of 
hterary  art  outside  Shakespeare.  He  has  captured 
the  whole  literary  world.  Yet  his  real  position  in  the 
action  of  the  poem  seems  to  have  been  grasped  by  few. 
The  vast  majority  of  readers  and  theatre-goers  under- 
stand Mephistopheles  to  be  "the  Devil";  for  he  says 
as  much.  But  seeing  that  the  Devil  is  the  prince  of 
liars,  this  seems  a  poor  argument ;  all  that  can  be 
maintained  is  that  any  theory  of  Mephistopheles  must 
explain  how  he  comes  to  call  himself  the  Devil.  Other 
readers  would  put  it  that  Mephistopheles  is  "the  Devil 
modernized."  Yet  this  seems  inadequate  to  the  facts 
of  the  play.  In  the  prologue  Mephistopheles  —  speak- 
ing in  the  presence  of  Deity,  which  would  make  false- 
hood pointless  —  dissociates  himself  from  two  things  : 
from  the  tempting  of  men  in  this  world,  and  from  any 
interest  in  their  souls  after  death.  If  out  of  the  tra- 
ditionary Devil  we  take  these  two  things,  what  is  there 
left?  Another  class  of  interpreters,  who  are  bent 
upon  rationalizing  whether  the  text  they  are  inter- 
preting will  bear  it  or  not,  would  persuade  us  that 
Mephistopheles  is  nothing  more  than  a  dramatic  symbol 
for  the  lower  nature  of  Faust.  But  how  could  the 
lower  nature  of  Faust  work  miracles,  as  Mephistopheles 
is  seen  doing  throughout  the  whole  drama;   not  only 

1  The  application  of  the  triple  formula  to  the  dififerent  versions 
of  the  Faust  Story  appears  in  tabular  form  in  the  Syllabus  below, 
pages  474-8. 

12401 


GOETHE'S  VERSION  OF  FAUST 

the  succession  of  miracles  which  make  up  the  magic, 
but  also  the  particular  miracle  of  restoring  to  Faust 
his  lost  youth  ?  Moreover,  all  such  interpretations 
ignore  that  which  must  be  the  basis  for  our  conception 
of  Mephistopheles  —  the  Prologue  in  Heaven.  There 
may  be  deep  meanings  in  this  scene ;  but  what  lies  on 
its  very  surface  is  that  here  Mephistopheles,  in  the 
presence  of  Deity,  is  seen  assuming  a  role  which  is  not 
his  natural  role.  What  he  is,  is  one  thing;  what  he 
undertakes  to  represent  in  the  action  of  the  drama,  is 
quite  another  thing.  What  he  is,  is  expressed  by  God 
Himself  in  the  phrase,  a  Spirit  of  Denial.  But  this 
Spirit^of  Denial  undertakes,  in  the  one  case  of  Faust, 
to  play  the  part  of  "Devil,"  or  the  traditional  tempter; 
he  does  this  to  show  how  it  might  be  done ;  to  win  a 
point  of  argument  with  the  Almighty.  And  this  con- 
ception of  Mephistopheles  playing  Devil  for  Faust 
runs  through  the  action  of  the  drama  to  its  latest 
scene. 

The  theory  of  Mephistopheles  thus  narrows  itself 
down  to  the  meaning  of  the  expression,  a  Spirit  of 
Denial.  In  determining  this,  the  first  thing  we  note 
is  that  the  Prologue  in  Heaven  is  closely  modelled  upon 
the  prologue  to  the  Book  of  Job.  Unfortunately,  this 
prologue  to  the  Book  of  Job  is  almost  universally  mis- 
understood, owing  to  an  infelicity  of  translation  in 
ordinary  bibles,  an  infelicity  which  even  King  James's 
version  corrects  in  the  margin.  The  text  of  our  bibles, 
after  saying  how  the  sons  of  God  came  to  present  them- 
selves before  the  Lord,  adds  "and  Satan  came  also 
among  them."  The  margin  gives,  as  alternative  for 
B  [  241  ] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

Satan,  'Hhe  Adversary J^  The  point  lies  in  the  definite 
article.  The  word  "Satan,"  which  in  Hebrew  means 
"Adversary,"  is  used  in  Scripture  in  two  very  different 
ways.  Satan,  as  a  proper  name,  is  x\dversary  of  God ; 
all  that  we  understand  by  the  Devil.  But  the  Satan 
is  the  title  of  an  office:  this  ofl&cial  is  ''adversary," 
not  of  God,  but  of  the  saints;  and  he  is  adversary  of 
these  only  in  the  sense  that  an  inspector,  or  an  examiner, 
or  an  auditor,  is  for  the  time  being  the  adversary  of 
those  he  is  inspecting  or  examining,  or  whose  accounts 
he  is  auditing.  So  the  Satan  of  Joh  is  an  official  of 
God's  universe ;  he  comes  among  the  sons  of  God,  and 
there  is  no  difference  between  his  reception  and  the 
reception  of  the  rest.^  The  other  sons  of  God  —  so 
we  must  understand  —  have  been  questioned  as  to 
their  respective  provinces,  the  different  worlds ;  this 
one  who  follows  announces  himself  as  the  Inspector  of 
the  Earth,  and  is  questioned  by  God  about  Job  as  the 
perfect  type  of  His  service  on  this  Earth.  All  this  has 
its  counterpart  in  the  prologue  to  Faust.  What  in 
Joh  is  only  impHed,  is  in  the  other  poem  given 
at  length :  the  other  sons  of  God,  the  Archangels, 
reporting  of  their  worlds,  which  they  pronounce  per- 
fect as  on  the  first  day  —  that  great  day  when  all  the 
morning  stars  sang  together  at  the  creation  of  the 
Earth,  and  all  the  sons  of  God  shouted  for  joy.  Then 
Mephistopheles  comes  forw^ard  and  reports  of  his 
world,  in  which  —  in  a  very  different  sense  —  things 
are  as  they  were  on  that  first  day. 

1  This  is  fuUy  discussed  in  the  Modern  Reader's  Bible,  notes  to 
Prologue  of  Joh. 

[242] 


GOETHE'S  VERSION  OF  FAUST 

What  then  is  the  significance  of  the  office  expressed 
in  Job  by  the  title  ''Satan"?  The  Satan  is  an  "ad- 
versary," firstly,  in  the  sense  that  he  is  the  inspector 
of  his  province,  our  Earth:  he  comes  ''from  going  to 
and  fro  in  the  earth  and  walking  up  and  down  in  it." 
Secondly,  he  is  "adversary"  in  the  sense  of  a  ques- 
tioner, a  challenger.  When  God  offers  Job  as  a  perfect 
type  of  service,  the  Satan  —  performing  his  proper 
function  —  challenges  this  view,  and  points  out 
another  possible  interpretation  of  Job's  life :  there  is 
no  malignity  in  this,  but  merely  zeal  for  a  high  stand- 
ard of  perfection.  In  the  third  place,  the  Satan  is 
"adversary"  in  the  sense  that  he  tempts  men  :  yet  not 
in  the  hostile  spirit  of  temptation  we  associate  with  the 
other  use  of  "Satan"  :  the  temptations  of  this  Satan 
are  only  moral  exercises,  tests  of  character,  the  more 
severe  in  proportion  as  the  character  seems  higher. 
Such  spiritual  experimentation  is  no  more  than  is 
imphed  in  the  idea  of  a  state  of  probation.  What 
appears  then  as  to  the  Satan  of  the  Book  of  Job 
amounts  to  the  function  of  criticism  in  the  spiritual 
sphere.  But  criticism  is  a  thing  that  has  two  very 
different  aspects.  For  those  on  whom  it  is  exercised 
criticism  is  a  good  thing,  working  for  the  discrimina- 
tion between  apparent  and  real.  The  evil  aspect  of 
criticism  is  that  its  exercise  reacts  upon  the  critic  him- 
self, narrowing  his  sympathy,  and  predisposing  to  low 
views.  It  is  in  this  way  we  get  the  other  sense  of  the 
word  "Satan"  in  the  Bible:  the  Adversary  who  has 
lost  all  touch  with  good,  and  become  a  hostile  force. 
Spiritual  criticism  in  its  full  sense  enters  deeply  into 

[243] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

Goethe's  poem.  Such  spiritual  criticism  combined  with 
faith  in  God  gives  the  attitude  of  the  Archangels : 
theirs  is  not  the  servile  adulation  that  will  deny  all 
difficulties;  their  motto  is,  "Mysterious  all,  yet  all  is 
good."  The  spirit  of  criticism  touching  the  weariness 
of  Faust's  old  age  produces  the  mood  of  scepticism 
with  which  the  action  commences.  But  criticism  be- 
come an  end  in  itself,  warping  the  critic  to  its  chilling 
work,  gives  us  Mephistopheles  :  he  is  a  Spirit  of  Denial 
in  the  sense  of  the  Arch-Depreciator,  whose  whole 
spiritual  energy  has  decomposed  into  an  itch  for  be- 
littling. 

But  a  great  gulf  yet  to  be  noted  separates  Mephis- 
topheles from  the  Satan  of  Job.  Hebrew  literature, 
which  has  given  us  the  Satan,  is  distinguished  by  a  total 
lack  of  humor.  The  culture  of  which  Goethe's  poem 
is  an  expression  is  saturated  by  the  spirit  of  humor. 
This  humor,  like  criticism,  has  its  double  aspect.  The 
sense  of  humor  is  the  most  precious  endowment  of  the 
literary  artist,  a  touchstone  for  the  finest  shades  of 
perfect  and  imperfect.  But  the  free  indulgence  of 
humor  is  a  weed  of  the  mind,  choking  the  soil  where 
it  has  found  lodgment,  and  tending  gradualh''  to  extir- 
pate all  that  is  not  humorous.  It  is  in  the  latter  sense 
that  humor  cUngs  to  Mephistopheles :  the  arch-depre- 
ciator  is  also  the  spirit  of  cynical  humor,  which  has 
lost  all  reverence,  from  which  nothing  is  sacred.  Yet 
all  this  leaves  the  Spirit  of  Denial  a  very  different 
thing  from  the  Devil.  The  zealous  hostility  of  the 
traditional  tempter  would  be  a  theme  for  the  cynical 
irony  of  Mephistopheles  quite  as  much  as  the  devout 

[244] 


GOETHE'S  VERSION  OF  FAUST 

enthusiasm  of  the  Angels.  Mephistopheles  has  not 
broken  with  good.  His  last  appearance  in  the  action 
of  the  drama  reveals  a  sneaking  sense  of  attraction  to 
the  angelic  nature,  which  he  blasphemously  interprets 
as  a  sort  of  spiritual  concupiscence.  And  the  Prologue 
makes  clear  that  Mephistopheles  enjoys  his  attendance 
at  the  levees  of  Heaven,  though  the  expression  he  gives 
to  his  enjoyment  reads  as  if  he  were  patronizing  God. 
But  Goethe's  adaptation  of  the  Joh  prologue  to  the 
purposes  of  his  modern  poem  yields  yet  another  effect, 
and  that  of  the  boldest.  Humor  in  its  lower  form 
makes  a  Mephistopheles ;  but  what  of  humor  in  its 
highest  sense?  Even  this  is  alien  to  the  Hebrew 
poem ;  but  Goethe  has  ventured  to  hint  a  God  with  a 
sense  of  humor.  This  is  clearly  suggested  by  the  speech 
which  startles  so  many  readers,  in  which  God  seems 
to  approve,  not  indeed  Mephistopheles,  but  at  least 
the  function  Mephistopheles  is  to  carry  out. 

The  like  of  thee  have  never  moved  My  hate. 

Of  all  the  bold,  denying  Spirits, 

The  waggish  knave  least  trouble  doth  create. 

Man's  active  nature,  flagging,  seeks  too  soon  the  level ; 

Unqualified  repose  he  learns  to  crave  ; 

Whence,  willingly,  the  comrade  him  I  gave, 

Who  works,  excites,  and  must  create,  as  Devil. ^ 

Dr.  Anster's  version  of  the  poem  at  this  point  intro- 
duces a  brilliant  paraphrase. 

1  The  quotations  from  Goethe's  poem  are  almost  exclusively  from 
the  version  of  Bayard  Taylor ;  a  few  are  from  Anster :  see  below, 
page  487.  Very  occasionally,  to  make  a  point  clear,  I  have  made 
my  own  version. 

[245  1 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

Of  the  Spirits  of  Denial 
The  pleasantest,  that  figures  in  Man's  Trial, 
Is  Old  Iniquity  in  his  Fool's  clothing ; 
The  Vice  is  never  heavy  upon  hands ; 
Without  the  Knave  the  Mystery  were  nothing. 
For  Man's  activity  soon  tires, 
(A  lazy  being  at  the  best) 
And  sting  and  spur  requires. 
In  indolent  enjoyment  Man  would  live. 
And  this  companion,  whom  I  therefore  give. 
Goads,  urges,  drives  —  is  devil  and  cannot  rest. 

Whether  the  German  word  Schalk  can  be  stretched  so 
far  as  to  make  a  basis  for  this  passage,  I  am  not  prepared 
to  say ;  but  the  idea  itself  is  most  suggestive.  The 
Mephistophelean  function  is  thus  made  equivalent  to 
the  reUef  element  in  the  mediaeval  drama  —  the  noisy 
stage  business  of  the  Vice  or  Knave  or  Fool,  intro- 
duced to  stimulate  the  flagging  attention  of  the  popu- 
lace assisting  at  these  long-winded  spiritual  poems. 
The  suggestion  seems  confirmed  by  the  continuation  of 
the  speech,  in  which  the  Almighty  turns  —  as  if  in 
contrast  —  to  address  the  angehc  hosts. 

But  ye,  pure  sons  of  God,  be  yours  the  sight 

Of  Beauty,  each  hour  brighter  and  more  bright !  — 

As  if  the  angels  represented  the  developed  artistic 
temperament  of  the  spiritual  Ufe,  which  can  endure 
sustained  presentations  without  needing  rehef. 

The  life  in  all  around,  below,  above. 
That  ever  lives  and  works  —  the  Infinite 
Enfold  you  in  the  happy  bonds  of  love  !  — 
[246] 


GOETHE'S  VERSION  OF  FAUST 

The  very  antithesis  of  a  Mephistopheles  whom  no  single 
manifestation  of  life  can  warm  from  cynicism. 

And  all  that  flows  unfixed  and  undefined 
In  glimmering  phantasy  before  the  mind, 
Bid  Thought's  enduring  chain  for  ever  bind. 

The  angels  can  maintain  the  equilibrium  of  thought  in 
the  presence  of  mystery,  in  contrast  with  Faust  whose 
spiritual  energies  have  broken  down  in  scepticism. 

Between  such  a  God  and  such  a  Mephistopheles  a 
contention  is  waged.  Mephistopheles  has  sneered  at 
the  spiritual  restlessness  of  Faust :  God  has  pronounced 
this  restlessness  the  embryo  of  a  higher  spiritual  condi- 
tion. Mephistopheles,  most  characteristically,  offers  to 
bet :  a  moment  before  he  had  sneered  at  the  idea  of 
tempting  poor  mortals,  but  he  now  says  that  if  he  had 
the  authority  to  do  the  tempting  he  could  make  clear 
the  baselessness  of  God's  confidence  in  Faust.  God 
bids  Mephistopheles  take  the  authority  he  suggests, 
and  justifies  the  function  of  tempting.  The  terms  of 
the  contention  are  strictly  defined :  God  engages,  not 
that  Faust  will  not  sin,  but  that  in  nothing  Mephis- 
topheles can  offer  will  Faust  rest  satisfied ;  Mephis- 
topheles gloats  over  his  undertaking  that  Faust  shall 
eat  dust  with  a  relish.  With  the  machinery  of  the 
Book  of  Job  to  assist,  Goethe  has  thus  masked  one  of  the 
difficulties  in  the  traditional  story :  we  no  longer  have 
the  buying  and  selling  of  a  soul  —  marketing  is  a  seri- 
ous business — but  we  have  the  characteristic  Mephis- 
tophelean frivolity  of  a  wager  over  souls.  The  playing 
out  of  this  wager  is  to  make  the  drama  of  Faust. 

[247] 


THE^FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

And  a  continuous  thread  running  throughout  this 
drama  is  the  interest  of  Mephistopheles  acting  a  part 
that  is  a  novelty  to  him.  No  hoHest  thing  would  be 
sacred  to  Mephistopheles,  but  diablerie  is  an  inexhaust- 
ible field  for  his  special  brand  of  humor;  over  and 
above  the  game  he  is  playing  against  Faust,  he  has  a 
game  all  to  himself,  in  caricaturing  the  Devil's  work  in 
the  very  act  of  doing  it.  Fully  to  illustrate  this  would 
mean  transcribing  large  parts  of  the  poem.  A  first 
stroke  of  it  we  have  in  the  concluding  lines  of  the  pro- 
logue, when  Heaven  has  closed,  and  Mephistopheles 
finds  himself  for  a  moment  alone. 

I'm  very  glad  to  have  it  in  my  power 
To  see  him  now  and  then ;  he  is  so  civil : 
I  rather  Uke  our  good  old  governor  — 
Think  only  of  his  speaking  to  the  Devil ! 

There  would  be  nothing  to  smile  at  in  the  idea  of  God's 
speaking  to  Mephistopheles,  for  clearly  Mephistopheles 
is  accustomed  to  attend  these  assemblies  of  heaven's 
hierarchs :  what  Mephistopheles  chuckles  at  is  that 
the  Almighty  has  inadvertently  been  civil  to  one  he 
had  that  moment  constituted  Devil !  Mephistopheles 
clearly  enjoys  the  process  of  incarnating  the  Devil 
in  visible  form  —  Dog,  Scholar,  Man  of  the  world  ;  the 
whole  etiquette  of  Hell  is  scrupulously  observed,  and 
the  tempter  will  not  enter  Faust's  chamber  until  the 
knock  and  invitation  to  come  in  has  been  duly  repeated 
thrice.  He  works  the  pentagram  foolery  for  all  it  is 
worth,  and  will  not  make  his  exit  until,  in  the  most 
orthodox  fashion,  a  rat  has  obeyed  Beelzebub's  sum- 

[248] 


GOETHE'S  VERSION  OF  FAUST 

mons  to  release  him.  He  has  roistering  fun  with  the 
Auerbach  drinking  party,  who  have  thought  they 
might  safely  make  jokes  about  the  Devil;  he  caps 
blasphemies  with  the  Witch  in  her  kitchen,  and  elab- 
orately explains  how  the  Devil  modernized  conceals 
his  tail ;  the  one  pleasure  for  which  he  confesses  a 
weakness  is  the  horrors  of  Walpurgis  Night.  Mephis- 
topheles  expresses  disgust  when  his  magic  is  called 
upon  to  produce  the  ideal  beauty  of  Helen  :  he  protests 
he  is  a  romantic  fiend,  while  classical  superstitions  have 
a  Hades  of  their  own.  At  one  point  of  the  drama  he 
appears  on  the  street,  stamping  with  rage  and  bursting 
with  suppressed  laughter :  the  rage  is  the  Devil's  at 
the  thought  of  his  precious  casket  finding  its  way  into 
the  coffers  of  his  hereditary  enemy  the  Church ;  the 
laughter  is  at  Mephistopheles'  realization  that  he  may 
not  relieve  his  feelings  by  swearing,  since  he  is  already 
the  Devil.  In  the  scene  with  the  Student,  Mephis- 
topheles  has  been  pouring  a  stream  of  his  most  cynical 
depreciation  upon  all  the  different  sides  of  academic 
study  :   then  we  have  an  aside  :  — 

I'm  tired  enough  of  this  dry  tone,  — 
Must  play  the  Devil  again,  and  fully :  — 

and  he  proceeds  to  whisper  sensual  suggestions  into 
the  young  man's  ear.  When  Mephistopheles  in  the 
shabby  gown  of  a  Travelling  Scholar  confronts  Faust, 
he  has  an  antagonist  who  can  match  him,  sneer  for 
sneer ;  yet  the  academic  tramp  can  at  least  mystify 
the  great  professor,  who  is  not  in  the  secret  of  the 
dual  personality.     Faust  has  demanded  who  this  vis- 

[249] 


THE  FIVE   LITERARY  BIBLES 

itor,  SO  supernaturally  introduced,  may  be;  the  an- 
swer comes :  — 

Part  of  the  power  that  would 
Still  do  evil  — 

SO  far,  the  answer  describes  the  Devil ;  when  it  adds  :  — 

—  Still  does  good  ! 

we  have  the  Depreciator  gibing  at  the  Devil's  ineffect- 
iveness.    Again  the  speaker  declares  :  — 

I  am  the  spirit  that  evermore  denies.  — 

Thus  much  Mephistopheles  may  say  for  himself :  in 
the  lines  that  follow  he  voices  the  hostiUty  to  all  exist- 
ence which  belongs  to  the  Devil  he  is  personating  :  — 

And  rightly  so  —  for  all  that  doth  arise 
Deserves  to  perish  —  this  distinctly  seeing 
No  !  say  I,  No  !   to  every  thing  that  tries 
To  bubble  into  being. 

When  this  spirit  of  hostility  has  been  extended  to  a 
fierce  tirade  against  Light  itself,  Faust  brings  him 
down  from  his  high  horse  w^ith  a  sneer :  his  visitor  has 
clearly  had  a  failure  on  a  large  scale,  and  is  prudently 
setting  up  again  in  a  retail  business.  Mephistopheles 
at  once  drops  to  his  natural  tone,  and  sneers  at  the 
Devil's  furious  assaults  on  all  existence,  the  deaths 
that  only  set  young  blood  circulating,  all  the  elements 
lost,  except  indeed  Flame  which  the  Devil  still  keeps 
to  himself.  Faust  mocks  the  figure  before  him,  in 
vain  spite  clenching  its  cold  devil's  fist  against  the 
energy  of  creation :  Mephistopheles  thinks  it  time  to 
change  the  subject  and  get  to  business.     At  the  very 

[250] 


GOETHE'S  VERSION  OF  FAUST 

end  of  the  action,  when  at  Faust's  death  the  wager  is 
hopelessly  lost,  Mephistopheles  must  needs  have  one 
more  bout  of  diablerie,  in  a  first-rate  mediseval  devil 
struggle  over  a  corpse.  But  the  summoned  demons 
—  long-horned  and  short-horned  alike  —  fly  before 
the  advancing  angels,  and  Mephistopheles  himself  is 
edged  out  of  the  way.  He  disappears  with  a  final  flash 
of  Mephistophelean  humor :  that  he  has  let  himself 
be  diverted  from  business  for  the  sake  of  a  peep  at 
cherubic  charms  —  and  at  his  age  ! 

This  briefest  of  prologues,  assisted  by  echoes  from 
the  biblical  Job,  has  sufficed  to  give  an  entirely  new 
turn  to  the  machinery  of  the  temptation.  The  actual 
temptation  of  Faust,  in  Goethe's  version,  is  the  presen- 
tation to  him  of  the  Whole  World.  The  elaboration 
of  this  second  element  in  the  traditional  story  accounts 
for  the  great  bulk  of  Goethe's  poem.  He  is  the  first 
to  see  the  double  significance  of  the  term  ''World"  in 
such  a  connection.  Every  man  lives  at  the  same  time 
in  two  worlds :  the  microcosm  of  his  own  individual 
life,  and  the  macrocosm  of  the  Great  World,  the  uni- 
verse in  which  individual  lives  are  small  atoms.  The 
distinction  of  these  two  worlds  underlies  the  division 
between  the  First  Part  and  the  Second  Part  of  Goethe's 
Faust.  In  the  First  Part  we  have  only  the  world  of  the 
Individual  Life.  Faust  at  the  outset  has  all  that  belongs 
to  the  world  of  scholarly  maturity ;  the  action  of  the 
poem  adds  to  this  the  world  of  social  pleasure  and  a 
youth  miraculously  restored :  with  youth  thus  added 
to  maturity  the  whole  of  the  individual  life  has  been 

[251] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

covered.  The  Second  Part  presents  the  Great  World, 
in  successive  phases.  Act  I  presents  the  World  as 
Spectacle  —  Court,  Society,  Wealth,  Pleasure,  Beauty. 
Act  II  presents  the  World  as  Science.  Act  III  presents 
the  World  as  Art,  with  the  harmony  of  Classical  and 
Romantic.  Act  IV  presents  the  World  of  Power  — 
Glory,  State,  Enterprise.  Not  until  the  fifth  Act  of 
the  Second  Part  are  the  two  worlds  brought  into  con- 
flict.i 

The  Easter  Eve  scene  gives  us  the  state  of  things 
before  the  poem  opens.  Or,  if  it  is  to  stand  as  part  of 
the  action,  the  temptation  here  is  internal,  subjective, 
like  the  ordinary  temptations  of  men  and  women; 
Mephistopheles  nowhere  appears,  though  a  subsequent 
scene  shows  that  he  is  privy  to  all  that  happens.  Such 
temptation  must  lie  in  the  ordinary  course  of  nature 
and  human  life,  including  those  unexpected  turns  of 
events  which  we  call  accidents.  As  in  Marlowe's 
version,  we  have  Faust  in  his  study  at  midnight ;  it  is 
a  different  Faust,  and  a  different  study  —  a  vaulted 
chamber  of  rich  Gothic  architecture,  filled  with  books 
and  old  manuscripts,  apparatus  proper  to  every  science, 
antique  furniture  bespeaking  the  coimoisseur  in  art. 
The  moment  Faust  opens  his  mouth  we  feel  the  influ- 
ence of  the  spirit  of  depreciation ;  the  beautiful  apart- 
ment is  felt  by  Faust  to  be  a  dungeon  ;  all  the  culture  it 
betokens  is  only  vanity,  the  vanity  of  a  life  spent  in 
learning  that  nothing  is  to  be  truly  known.  It  is  this 
spirit  which  allures  Faust  to  the  magic  Book  of  Nostra- 
damus, that  lies  gleaming  in  the  moonlight.     He  has 

^  Compare  throughout  the  Syllabus  below,  pages  474-8. 
[252] 


GOETHE'S  VERSION  OF  FAUST 

opened  upon  the  Sign  of  Macrocosm:  as  in  some 
intricate  geometrical  diagram,  the  powers  which  sway 
universal  nature  stand  supernaturally  revealed;  and 
Faust  rapturously  feels  a  growing  insight  into  the 
balanced  forces  of  action  and  reaction  that  answer  one 
another  like  buckets  ascending  and  descending  in  a 
well.  But  the  inevitable  disappointment  follows  :  the 
dry  light  of  science  that  shows  so  clearly  the  stream 
of  things  can  show  nothing  of  the  fount  from  which  that 
stream  has  flowed.  Faust  impatiently  turns  the  pages 
till  he  lights  upon  the  Sign  of  Microcosm,  that  in  like 
mystic  symbol  reveals  so  different  a  world.  As  his 
spirit  spontaneously  draws  to  this  kindred  region, 
strange  manifestations  are  going  on  all  around  him ;  at 
last,  in  the  heart  of  a  flame,  the  Spirit  of  this  Earth 
chants  the  formula  of  Life  —  the  Life  woven  by  the 
twin  shuttles  of  Birth  and  the  Grave  upon  the  loom  of 
Time.  Faust  advances  to  embrace  the  Apparition, 
but  is  waved  off. 

Spirit.    Man,  thou  art  as  the  Spirit,  whom  thou  conceivest, 

Not  Me. 
Faust  [overpowered  with  confusion].   Not  thee  ! 

Whom  then  ?     I !  image  of  the  Deity  ! 

And  not  even  such  as  thee  ! 

Faust  is  on  the  verge  of  a  truth  which  might  shatter 
all  temptation  —  that,  created  in  the  image  of  God,  he 
is  no  fit  mate  for  any  lesser  being.  But  accident  inter- 
poses— or  must  we  say,  a  contrivance  of  the  tempter? 
The  opening  door  reveals  the  feeble  smile  of  the 
self-satisfied  pedant  Wagner ;  and  Faust  must  repel  the 
boredom  of  Wagner's  hero-worship  with  irritated  depre- 

[253] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

elation  of  everything  that  makes  an  ideal  for  the  routine 
scholar.  When  he  is  again  alone,  the  mood  of  depression 
continues.  Midnight  has  by  now  given  place  to  the 
j&rst  faint  signs  of  another  day;  as  the  growing  light 
reveals  the  various  objects  in  the  room,  each  is  to  Faust 
the  memento  of  some  disappointed  aspiration.  By  a 
sudden  crescendo  of  this  dawning  —  or,  shall  we  sa}^, 
by  a  supernatural  touch  of  Mephistopheles  —  a  single 
article  upon  a  single  shelf  starts  for  a  moment  into 
prominence :  the  Poison  Flask  suggests  the  plunge  into 
the  unseen  that  shall  solve  all  life's  mysteries.  His 
bosom  swelling  with  the  thought,  Faust  opens  the  case- 
ment, and  gazes  on  the  morning  mists  flushing  with  the 
near  approach  of  day.  His  act  shall  be  accomplished 
with  due  ceremony ;  he  takes  from  a  secret  receptacle 
the  most  precious  of  his  art  treasures,  and,  as  the  crys- 
tal goblet  glitters  in  the  growing  light,  pours  into  it  the 
dark  brown  liquid.  The  first  ray  of  the  rising  sun 
flashes  upon  the  goblet,  and  Faust  raises  it  to  his  lips. 
But  the  same  first  ray  of  the  sun  is  the  signal  for  a  merry 
peal  of  bells  from  the  neighboring  minster,  proclaim- 
ing Easter  morning;  and  the  Choir  in  the  minster 
yard  break  into  the  Easter  Hymn,  telling  of  the  triumph 
over  death.  Recollections  of  Faust's  boyhood,  and  the 
happy  days  of  faith,  of  Spring  sports,  and  Sabbath  still- 
nesses that  came  hke  a  kiss  from  heaven — all  these 
rush  in  like  a  flood  upon  his  heart :  the  goblet  drops, 
and  earth  has  gained  its  child  again. 

Clearly  this  internal  tempting  will  not  serve :  the 
tempter  must  incarnate  himself  in  visible  form.  In 
what    form?    Mephistopheles'  plan  of  temptation  is 

[254] 


GOETHE'S  VERSION  OF  FAUST 

threefold.  His  main  trust  is  to  the  mere  presence  of  the 
tempter,  that  will  freeze  up  all  the  spiritual  fervor  of 
Faust.  Magic  shows  are  to  shake  reason  into  scepticism. 
Then  will  be  the  time  for  sensual  suggestions ;  yet  these 
—  so  soon  exhausted  —  must  not  stand  alone ;  Faust 
must  be  left  free  to  indulge  his  loftiest  aspirations,  until 
the  sense  of  distraction  between  his  higher  and  lower  na- 
ture shall  bring  some  moment  of  sudden  yielding.  The 
three  strains  of  the  temptation  symbolize  themselves  in 
the  three  forms  Mephistopheles  is  seen  to  wear :  the  Dog 
is  the  natural  type  of  human  companionship ;  the  Travel- 
ling Scholar  of  the  Middle  Ages — flitting  from  univer- 
sity to  university,  his  whole  life  dissipated  in  endless  ques- 
tionings— leads  the  attack  upon  reason ;  the  Gay  Com- 
panion, all  in  scarlet  and  silk,  in  his  hat  the  cock's  feather 
as  symbol  of  the  great  denier,  invites  to  the  world 
of  sense  delights.  All  the  while  Mephistopheles,  as  we 
have  seen,  is  getting  his  full  fun  out  of  each  successive 
phase  of  diablerie  that  his  schemes  may  require.  More- 
over, his  role  of  Devil  entitles  him  to  bands  of  Attendant 
Spirits,  who  hover  about  unseen,  and  play  up  to  Meph- 
istopheles' lead.  Faust  has  permitted  a  sample  of  the 
tempter's  art.  As  voices  are  heard  singing,  their  words 
realize  themselves  in  a  phantasmagoria  like  an  opium 
dream  :  the  frescoed  vault  above  Faust's  head  changes 
into  starlit  heavens,  with  children  of  heaven  descending 
in  billowy  motion  to  meet  loving  ones  from  below; 
while,  stretching  into  the  distance,  rivers  of  wine  seem 
foaming  over  beds  of  precious  stones,  and  on  green  hill- 
slopes  or  in  floating  islands  winged  throngs  drink  deep  of 
bliss.    Thus  delicately  comes  the  first  faint  suggestion  of 

[255] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

sense  delight.  Later,  a  sneer  at  the  poison  cup  that  was 
never  drunk  reveals  to  Faust  how  the  ideal  of  holy  inno- 
cence which  that  morning  had  checked  his  suicidal  impulse 
is  all  known  to  the  mocking  demon  at  his  side  :  in  a  sud- 
den upsurging  of  revulsion  Faust  pours  out  an  utterance 
which  unites  all  the  ideals  that  have  ever  swayed  man- 
kind in  one  common  Curse.  An  answer  seems  to  come 
from  the  invisible :  as  the  Attendant  Spirits  sing,  a  magic 
vision  displays  a  cursed  universe  tumbhng  to  pieces,  and 
out  of  the  ruins  a  new  and  fair  world  springing  up  —  a 
world  which,  the  Spirits  sing,  Faust  shall  build  within 
his  secret  heart. ^  Thus  deUcately  comes  the  entice- 
ment to  exchange  the  life  of  reason  for  the  life  of  self. 
And  at  last  Faust  lets  Mephistopheles  show  the  world  he 
has  to  offer.  In  scornful  confidence  that  the  shallow 
sneerer  before  him  can  find  nothing  to  tempt  his  own 
higher  nature,  Faust  pronounces  a  wish  that  the  first 
satisfying  moment  may  be  his  last :  unconsciously  he 
has  echoed  the  very  terms  of  the  wager  laid  in  heaven. 
And  at  first  his  confidence  seems  justified :  the  miser- 
able hetise  of  the  Auerbach'revellers  can  excite  in  Faust 
nothing  but  disgust.  To  Mephistopheles  it  suggests 
an  explanation  for  Faust's  immobility :  that  the  man 
has  entirely  outgrown  his  youth.  Then  the  action  takes 
us  to  the  Witch's  Kitchen  :  amid  a  tour  de  force  of  dev- 
ilry, in  which  Mephistopheles  is  finding  his  recreation, 
the  necessary  miracle  is  wrought,  and,  in  Faust,  all  the 

1  The  suggestion  in  Bayard  Taylor's  note  that  this  second  song 
is  by  other  singers  —  Good  Spirits  seeking  to  check  Faust  in  his  temp- 
tation —  seems  to  me  entirely  baseless.  It  is  out  of  harmony  both 
with  the  words  of  the  song  and  the  general  movement  of  the  scene. 

1 256  1 


GOETHE'S  VERSION  OF  FAUST 

susceptibility  of  first  youth  is  added  to  the  wisdom  of 
mature  life. 

The  Margaret  Episode  is  in  form  two  series  of  love 
scenes  separated  by  what  is  called  the  Forest  and  Cav- 
ern scene.  In  such  form  we  see  reflected  Mephis- 
topheles'  plan  of  distracting  Faust  between  the  impulses 
of  his  higher  and  his  lower  nature.  In  a  rapid  succes- 
sion of  the  simplest  incidents  we  watch  the  girlish 
charms  of  Margaret  drawing  on  Faust's  new  youth  to 
the  rapture  of  the  lover's  first  kiss.  Then  Mephis- 
topheles  hurries  him  away :  the  Forest  and  Cavern  scene 
stands  for  those  times  in  which  Faust  is  left  free  to  his 
spiritual  communings  with  the  innermost  heart  of  Na- 
ture. Mephistopheles  is  seen  ascending  the  mountain 
side  :  Faust  realizes  the  hateful  association  binding  him 
to  this  being  whose  poisonous  presence  will  blast  all  his 
highest  feelings,  who  will  bring  him  back  moreover  to 
that  sweet  passion  which,  Faust  knows,  means  the 
betraying  of  innocent  trust.  Mephistopheles  is  soon 
heard  distilling  cool  cynicism  upon  the'  pantheist's  tran- 
scendental rapture;  a  rapture  not  inconsistent  with  a 
fleshlier  ecstasy  as  he  thinks  of  the  "poor  monkey  "mop- 
ing in  her  solitary  home.  The  warmly  colored  picture 
of  Margaret,  disturbing  the  purity  of  his  spiritual  com- 
munings, works  up  Faust  to  an  agony  of  distraction  :  he 
sees  himself  reflected  in  the  mountain  torrents  all  around 
him,  as  if  foaming  on  to  his  abyss  he  must  needs  drag 
down  a  peasant's  cot  in  his  ruin.  The  distraction  brings 
the  sudden  yielding :  he  bids  the  Devil  do  his  worst,  but 
do  it  quickly.  So  Faust  moves  on  consciously  to  the 
undoing  of  Margaret.  But  not  of  Margaret  alone.  A 
s  [  257  ] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

sleeping  potion  is  to  soothe  the  invaUd  mother  while  the 
lovers  may  find  opportunity  of  meeting:  but  Meph- 
istopheles  "has  his  amusements  too,"  and  the  mother 
never  wakes  again.  The  soldier  brother,  drawn  to  his 
home  by  whispers  of  gossip,  disturbs  the  midnight  sere- 
naders :  Faust  strikes  and  Mephistopheles  pan-ies,  and 
the  brother  bleeds  to  death,  with  his  last  breath  blurting 
out  his  sister's  sin.  Faust  has  to  fly  for  his  life,  with  two 
deaths  on  his  conscience ;  and  Margaret  is  left  to  endure 
alone  the  dreadful  descent  to  ruin.  The  interval  of 
absence  is  marked  by  the  dramatic  digression  of  the  Wal- 
purgis  Night :  the  soft  Spring  evening  gradually  trans- 
formed to  haunting  forms  of  fancy;  Mammon  illu- 
minating all  his  veins  of  rich  metal  till  they  shine  through 
the  crust  of  the  earth ;  the  passion  of  the  winds  as  they 
sweep  through  groaning  forests  growing  articulate  with 
bandied  blasphemies  of  riding  witches  in  mid  air ;  the 
Brocken  mount  lit  by  a  hundred  watch  fires  as  if  a  scene 
of  some  popular  fair  translated  into  demonic  orgy. 
Every  form  of  the  supernatural  has  a  place  on  this  magic 
night ;  amongst  them  clairvoyance  holds  up  to  Faust  a 
vision  of  a  girl,  gliding  with  bound  feet,  and  on  her  throat 
a  crimson  stain  no  wider  than  a  knife's  edge.  The 
thread  of  the  action  resumes  with  the  sudden  knowledge 
of  all  that  has  happened  to  his  love  in  Faust's  absence : 
how  in  prison  she  awaits  execution  as  murderess  of  her 
own  babe.  Mephistopheles  feels  strong  enough  to  ven- 
ture his  master  sneer  :  She  is  not  the  first !  A  spasm  of 
revulsion  rouses  Faust  to  the  highest  tension  of  will :  he 
turns  on  Mephistopheles,  and  by  the  strength  of  the 
compact  between  them  forces  the  Devil  to  do  a  work 

[258] 


GOETHE'S  VERSION  OF  FAUST 

of  salvation.  But  though  magic  horses  bring  them  to 
the  prison,  they  are  too  late :  the  body  is  there,  but  the 
mind  is  gone.  In  a  succession  of  agonies  Faust  seeks 
to  make  Margaret  understand  :  her  distracted  brain  is 
busy  with  scenes  of  the  old  love  time,  or  horrors  of  the 
flight  and  murder,  or  finally  with  the  scene  of  execution 
—  tolling  bell,  broken  wand,  bitter  wound,  silence  of  the 
grave.  At  this  point  Mephistopheles  enters  to  force  the 
pair  away.  Margaret  sees  the  Devil  claiming  her  be- 
yond the  bounds  of  this  world :  the  shock  restores  sanity 
for  a  moment,  and,  casting  herself  on  the  judgment  of 
God,  she  sinks  in  death.  Mephistopheles  points  to  the 
corpse-like  face,  and  cries,  She  is  judged !  A  voice 
from  heaven  pronounces  that  she  is  saved.  As  Faust 
lets  Mephistopheles  hurry  him  from  the  scene,  he  is  fol- 
lowed by  a  sweet  call,  ever  becoming  more  distant,  of 
Henry !  Henry  !  The  first  thought  of  the  saved  Mar- 
garet has  been  for  the  salvation  of  her  lover. 

In  this  last  detail  we  have  anticipated  what  will  be- 
long to  the  third  element  in  the  Faust  Story,  which  deals 
with  the  losing  or  saving  of  the  soul.  Our  immediate 
concern  is  with  the  idea  of  gaining  the  whole  world  :  how 
does  the  account  stand  at  the  conclusion  of  the  First 
Part  of  the  poem  ?  From  the  outset  of  the  action  Faust 
has  possessed  in  himself  the  world  of  broad  culture  that 
crowns  the  maturity  of  a  scholar's  life.  Subsequent 
scenes  have  added  to  this  the  world  of  social  life  and 
gaiety.  Further,  without  losing  any  part  of  his  ma- 
turity, Faust  has  had  miraculously  restored  to  him  the 
freshness  of  youth,  with  the  capacities  for  passionate 
love  that  only  youth  can  fully  possess.     The  paradox 

1259] 


THE   FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

of  youth  and  maturity  possessed  together  has  offered  to 
Faust  the  whole  world  of  the  individual  life. 

What  stands  as  the  brief  opening  scene  of  Part  Two  is 
in  reality  an  Interlude  between  the  divisions  of  the 
poem.  It  belongs  to  Goethe's  scheme  that  the  world 
of  the  individual  life  and  the  great  world  shall  be  kept 
entirely  distinct ;  it  is  remarkable  that  the  whole  of  the 
Second  Part  —  until  we  reach  the  final  scene  that  is 
really  an  epilogue  to  the  whole  poem  —  ignores  alto- 
gether the  Margaret  Episode.  The  Interlude  that  ef- 
fects this  separation  of  the  two  parts  of  the  story  is  one 
of  the  loveliest  pieces  of  symbolism  in  all  poetry.  Faust 
is  seen  in  the  midst  of  a  pleasant  landscape,  bedded  on 
flowery  turf,  exhausted  and  restless  with  the  agony  of 
the  separation  from  Margaret.  For  the  forces  which  are 
to  soothe  this  restlessness  we  have  open  air  Nature  as  a 
region  of  moral  indifference ;  Spring,  which  is  the  healing 
of  Winter ;  the  craft  of  Elves  —  neutral  spirits,  distinct 
from  the  war  of  angels  and  demons.  Amid  low  aeolian 
music  and  fairy  song  Night  advances  through  her  four 
pauses :  Twilight,  with  misty  veil  shutting  weary  eye- 
lids ;  Starlight,  and  the  pomp  of  the  protecting  Moon ; 
Lethe,  that  cancels  the  hours  when  alike  pain  and  bliss 
have  fled  away ;  Dawn,  to  shed  color  and  form  through 
the  shadow-rest  of  morning,  till  sleep  is  only  a  shell  to  be 
broken  through.  The  careering  Hours  are  leading  on 
the  triumph  of  the  advancing  Sun,  light  translated  into 
sound :  rocky  portals  of  cloud  crash  open  as  the  Light 
draws  near,  with  pealing  rays  and  trumpet-blazes,  sound 
that  Uke  the  music  of  the  spheres  is  too  loud  to  be 

[2601 


GOETHE'S  VERSION  OF  FAUST 

heard.  Faust  awakens,  oblivious  of  his  past,  with  fresh 
vigor  to  seek  the  highest  Ufe  for  which  he  is  panting. 
He  stands  watching  the  growing  Hght,  until  the  sun  shall 
come  forth  over  the  mountain  tops.  But  the  sudden 
blaze  blinds  him :  he  turns  his  back  upon  it,  and  what 
he  sees  before  him  is  the  cataract  smitten  into  rainbow 
tints  by  the  level  rays  of  morning.  In  the  sudden  relief 
Faust  sees  an  emblem  of  life : 

Symbol  of  human  striving's  best  direction ; 
Not  light  direct,  but  rainbow-like  reflection. 

Not  attainment,  but  ceaseless  endeavor :  the  symbolism 
of  the  Interlude  has  anticipated  the  thought  which  is  to 
be  the  culmination  of  the  whole  poem. 

The  Second  Part  of  the  poem  is  to  present  the  Great 
World  in  successive  phases,  and  Act  I  gives  us  the  world 
as  Spectacle  :  as  all  that  we  mean  when  we  talk  of  "see- 
ing life":  as  many-sided  life,  as  Wealth,  Pleasure, 
Beauty.  It  centres  naturally  around  the  Court  of  the 
Emperor.  The  Emperor  is  seen  in  full  court,  Mephis- 
topheles  acting  temporarily  as  Court  Fool —  no  bad  sug- 
gestion of  his  actual  position  in  the  universe.  Dullness 
marks  the  opening  of  the  action,  as  successive  min- 
isters in  droning  speeches  detail  cares  of  state ;  Mephis- 
topheles  quickens  the  movement  with  a  sprightly  sug- 
gestion that  all  these  troubles  are  varied  forms  of  the 
lack  of  money.  We  reach  the  first  of  the  three  main 
motives  in  this  first  Act.  It  is  as  if  magic  were  being 
carried  into  the  field  of  political  economy,  for  what 
Mephistopheles  suggests  is  a  bubble  scheme  of  paper 

[261] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

currency,  duly  secui-ed  on  the  basis  of  the  buried  wealth 
of  the  Middle  Ages  which  is  legally  the  property  of  the 
Emperor.  This  motive  is  no  more  than  opened  when 
interruption  brings  the  second  motive  —  the  Carnival 
Masquerade.  This  is  the  symbolic  spectacle  of  life  in 
its  varied  phases.  With  stage  effects  of  color  and  rhyth- 
mic dance  flower  girls  pose  in  successive  groups,  and 
opposite  them  gardeners  bearing  fruit  as  the  masculine 
side  of  the  pastoral ;  what  at  first  seems  an  incongruity  — 
a  match-making  mother  seeking  to  get  her  daughter  off 
her  hands  —  is  a  link  to  change  repose  into  motion,  and 
there  follow  fishers  and  bird-catchers,  with  nets,  fish- 
ing-rods, hmed  twigs,  and  the  like,  who  disperse  them- 
selves among  the  girls,  with  reciprocal  attempts  to  win, 
catch,  escape,  hold  fast :  life  is  made  to  appear  as  a  game 
of  the  sexes.  To  this  pastoral  mask  there  comes  a  pas- 
toral antimask ;  boisterous  wood-cutters,  pulcinelli  or 
grotesque  loafers,  slobbering  parasites,  drunken  aban- 
don with  clinking  glasses.  The  pastoral  is  followed  by 
the  poetic  presentation  of  life,  or  mask  of  poets  —  poets 
of  nature,  courtly  and  knightly  minstrels,  sentimental- 
ists, night  and  churchyard  poets :  the  section  is  merci- 
fully shortened  by  the  device  that  each  poet  interrupts 
his  predecessor  before  any  can  get  a  hearing.  Now 
we  have  a  classical  mask ;  the  exquisite  Graces,  the 
sombre  Fates ;  the  Furies  are  announced,  but  appear 
transformed  into  society  ladies,  who  can  do  their  work 
of  malice  and  poison  with,  due  decorum.  Next  fol- 
lows a  mediaeval  morality :  the  elephant  of  Power 
guided  by  a  delicate  woman  (Prudence),  on  which  rides 
throned  Victory,  with  Hope  and  Fear  on  either  side : 

[262  1 


GOETHE'S  VERSION  OF  FAUST 

Detraction  as  Vice  of  this  morality  appears  under  the 
suggestive  name  of  Zoilo-Thersites,  and  at  the  touch  of 
the  herald's  wand  the  monster  falls  in  two  as  an  adder 
combined  with  a  bat.  We  take  a  step  nearer  to  the 
other  motives  of  the  first  Act  when  the  mask  of  Wealth 
follows :  the  dragon  chariot  of  Plutus  is  driven  by  the 
lovely  boy-charioteer  who  is  Poesy  —  explained  as  in- 
tellectual wealth — and  scatters  among  the  crowd  pearls 
that  turn  to  crawling  beetles  in  vulgar  hands ;  the  anti- 
mask  is  Mephistopheles  as  sneering  Penury.  At  last  we 
have  a  nature  mask  of  the  Court :  the  Emperor  ap- 
pears as  the  great  god  Pan,  the  courtiers  as  nymphs, 
satyrs,  fauns,  giants ;  gnomes,  as  surgeons  of  the  moun- 
tains, lead  the  Emperor  to  the  Fount  of  Wealth  —  Plu- 
tus's  coffer,  now  transformed  into  a  volcanic  crater 
overflowing  with  molten  gold.  As  the  Emperor  stoops 
over  it  his  beard  catches  fire :  magic  flame  wraps  the 
whole  scene.  There  is  a  moment's  panic,  and  then  the 
other  elements  come  to  the  rescue,  and  with  suggestions 
of  quaking  earth,  cooling  airs,  trickling  and  softly 
drenching  rains,  the  curtain  descends.  The  transition 
is  to  a  scene  of  repose,  and  the  gardens  of  the  court. 
Here  the  news  comes  of  the  completely  realized  currency 
scheme.  Every  class  of  society  is  seen  rich  and  con- 
tented, all  able  to  realize  their  own  special  predilection ; 
the  old  Court  Fool,  whom  Mephistopheles  had  super- 
seded, like  the  rest  has  his  share  of  ready  money,  and 
promptly  gives  up  foolery  for  serious  life. 

But  an  unexpected  turn  is  given  to  the  action. 
Wealth  has  brought  the  demand  for  art  and  beauty ; 
nothing  less  will  serve  than  the  ideal  beauty  of  man  and 

[263  1 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

woman  in  Paris  and  Helen.  Mephistopheles  protests 
that  his  magic  jurisdiction  does  not  extend  to  the  classic  ; 
but  he  gives  way,  and  we  reach  the  third  motive  of  Act  I. 
It  was  ideal  beauty  that  was  demanded  :  the  word  sug- 
gests the  Platonic  theory  of  ideas  —  class  terms  and  the 
question  of  their  real  or  nominal  existence,  which  domi- 
nated philosophy  for  a  thousand  years.  It  is  difficult  to 
discuss  such  a  speculation  except  in  metaphorical  lan- 
guage ;  among  other  metaphors  the  ideas  were  made  the 
moulds  of  things,  as  distinguished  from  the  things  so 
moulded ;  mould  suggests  matrix,  matrix  is  of  the  same 
root  as  mother,  and,  fortunately,  an  obscure  passage  of 
Plutarch  refers  to  an  oriental  "Mystery  of  the  Mothers." 
Thus  the  Platonic  Theory  of  Ideas  emerges  as  the  Magic 
Mystery  of  the  Mothers.  With  burlesque  awe  and 
mystic  tremulousness  Faust  is  despatched  on  a  quest 
for  ''shapeless  forms  in  liberated  spaces,"  ''Formation, 
Transformation,"  "the  Eternal  Mind's  eternal  re-crea- 
tion." 

Faust.    Where  is  the  way  ? 

Mephistopheles.  No  way  !  —  To  the  Unreachable, 

Ne'er  to  be  trodden  !    A  way  to  the  Unbeseechable, 
Never  to  be  besought !  .  .  .     Downward  thy  being  strain  ! 
Stamp  and  descend,  stamping  thou'lt  rise  again. 

Flirtation  and  courtly  trifling  fill  the  interval  of  waiting. 
At  last,  in  the  dimly  lighted  Hall  of  the  Knights,  the 
court  await  a  scene  of  theatrical  magic ;  the  Court  As- 
trologer, or  chief  dreamer  of  the  age,  is  naturally  stage 
manager ;  Mephistopheles  peeps  over  the  prompter's 
box,  for  "prompting  is  the  Devil's  oratory."  Amid 
rolling  mists  that  distil  music  as  they  move  a  classic 

1264] 


GOETHE'S  VERSION  OF  FAUST 

scene  is  visible,  with  pillared  shaft  and  triglyph ;  from 
the  incense-steam  gradually  a  Helena  and  a  Paris  ap- 
pear. A  rapid  fire  of  running  comments  at  every  point 
gives  us  courtly  criticism  of  the  classical  antique.  The 
piece  is  clearly  the  Rape  of  Helena.  But  it  is  not 
destined  to  reach  its  natural  denouement.  Like  a 
Pygmalion  smitten  with  passion  for  the  Galatea  he  has 
sculptured,  Faust  falls  helplessly  in  love  with  "the  spec- 
tral Helen  he  himself  has  made."  A  magic  ''mystery" 
had  of  course  involved  a  magic  ''key"  ;  and  this  key  is 
still  in  the  hand  of  Faust.  When  the  unendurable  point 
is  reached  of  Paris  bearing  Helen  away,  Faust  rushes 
into  the  scene,  and  wields  his  key  in  resistance.  A  ter- 
rific explosion  follows  this  clash  of  real  and  ideal :  amid 
darkness  and  tumult  the  first  Act  comes  to  its  end,  the 
final  detail  having  laid  the  foundation  for  the  two  Acts 
that  follow. 

The  first  four  Acts,  though  parts  of  a  common  move- 
ment, may  be  read  each  as  an  independent  poem.  The 
first  Act  has  presented  the  world  as  Spectacle  :  the  sec- 
ond gives  us  the  world  revealed  as  Science.  Only,  this 
Science  has  to  be  understood  in  a  somewhat  restricted 
sense :  as  analysis  and  synthesis,  as  processes  of  evolu- 
tion .  More  precisely  still,  the  word ' '  genesis ' ' — the  com- 
ing into  being  of  things  —  expresses  the  idea  binding  the 
complex  details  of  the  second  Act  into  a  clear  unity.  It 
has  a  main  plot  and  an  underplot ;  the  main  plot  links 
the  Act  with  the  rest  of  the  poem,  the  underplot  empha- 
sizes the  scientific  nature  of  the  material  employed. 
The  main  plot  centres  around  Faust  and  Mephistopheles. 
Ideal  beauty  of  Helen,  which  at  the  outset  is  no  more 

[265] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

than  a  vision  in  the  mind  of  Faust,  is  throughout  the 
movement  of  this  second  Act  seeking  genesis  as  a 
reahty;  in  the  atmosphere  of  the  Classical  Walpurgis 
Night  it  makes  successive  stages  of  approach  to  this, 
then  disappears  to  attain  complete  reality  in  the  Helen 
of  Act  III.  But  Faust  has  a  perpetual  antimask  in 
Mephistopheles.  As  Faust  is  in  search  of  ideal  beauty, 
so  through  the  grotesquenesses  of  Walpurgis  Night 
Mephistopheles  seeks  ideal  ugliness,  and  reaches  a 
climax  in  the  hideous  Phorkyad  whose  form  he  will 
wear  in  Act  III.  The  underplot  is  given  up  to  compet- 
ing theories  of  scientific  genesis.  One  form  of  genesis  is 
the  crystallization  of  laboratory  experiment :  this  at  the 
opening  of  Act  II  has  given  us,  not  homo,  but  homuncu- 
lus,  limited  by  the  phial  in  which  he  has  been  chemically 
generated,  like  a  chick  that  cannot  break  its  shell; 
throughout  the  movement  of  the  Act  he  is  seeking  to 
overcome  this  limitation,  and  reaUze  complete  being. 
The  course  of  this  movement  brings  before  us  competing 
Fire  and  Water  creation,  Eruptive  and  Sedimentary, 
the  philosophy  of  Anaxagoras  and  the  philosophy  of 
Thales  :  Thales  triumphs,  and  Water  genesis  holds  the 
field.  But  this  Water  genesis  has  still  to  pass  through 
ascending  stages  of  definiteness;  each  true  stage 
flanked,  as  it  were,  by  a  false  form  of  imperfect  genesis. 
For  the  false  forms  we  have  the  Kabiri  to  suggest  self- 
generation  (or  parthenogenesis) ;  the  Telchines,  artifi- 
cial formation ;  the  Dorides,  the  union  of  mortals  with 
immortals.  Over  against  these  Nereus  stands  for  the 
general  idea  of  Water  genesis ;  Proteus  reveals  stages 
of  evolution.     For  climax  to  a  classical  presentation  of 

[266] 


GOETHE'S  VERSION  OF  FAUST 

Water  genesis  we  should  have  expected  the  myth  of 
Aphrodite  rising  from  the  foam  of  the  sea.  But  Aphro- 
dite, as  a  goddess,  would  not  fit  into  Goethe's  scheme ; 
he  installs  the  more  nearly  human  figure  of  Galatea  in 
Aphrodite's  place.  When  the  triumph  of  Galatea  has 
brought  the  foundation  step  of  evolution  in  simple  sex- 
union,  the  matter  of  the  underplot  has  worked  itself  out. 
The  movement  starts  from  the  Laboratory  of  Wagner. 
The  most  modern  laboratory  has  for  its  supreme  prob- 
lem by  synthesis  to  produce  organic  life.  Assisted  by 
the  magic  of  Mephistopheles  what  Wagner  has  pro- 
duced is  no  mere  protoplasm :  Homunculus  is  a  com- 
pletely organized  being,  whose  first  word  hails  his 
creator  as  Daddy,  and  recognizes  a  cousin  in  Mephis- 
topheles. Yet  he  is  but  generative  flame,  confined  by 
a  glass  phial  as  by  a  shell ;  he  can  float  in  his  phial 
through  space,  and  take  part  in  things,  but  must 
break  through  the  phial  before  he  can  attain  real  flesh 
and  blood  existence.  Faust  is  still  in  the  swoon 
caused  by  his  yearning  for  Helen ;  at  the  suggestion  of 
Mephistopheles  the  generative  flame  in  the  phial  shines 
over  the  sleeper,  and  in  the  brain  of  Faust  is  formed 
the  loveliest  of  dreams  —  the  swan-birth  of  Helen. 
More  than  this  is  not  possible  in  the  gloomy  regions  of 
the  north :  the  scene  must  change  to  the  Classical 
Walpurgis  Night.  This  of  course  means  the  indis- 
criminate massing  together  of  Greek  mythologic  crea- 
tions, as  the  other  Walpurgis  Night  was  a  massing  of 
northern  superstitions.  The  scene  is  the  Pharsalian 
fields,  still  haunted  by  the  ghost  of  Greek  liberty. 
The  watch-fires  burn  blue  as  there  come  hovering  over 

[267] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

the  region  Mephistopheles  and  the  flaming  phial, 
with  Faust  carried  still  in  his  state  of  unconsciousness. 
The  arrangement  that  the  three  shall  roam  indepen- 
dently, and  meet  at  intervals,  has  the  effect  of  inter- 
weaving the  separate  threads  of  the  plot  into  a  dramatic 
picture.  Faust  awakes  from  his  swoon  as  he  touches 
the  land  that  bore  Helen.  It  is  easy  to  follow  Faust 
as  he  moves  amidst  the  classical  forms  around  him : 
drinking  in  the  beauty  of  the  beautiful,  appreciating 
the  solid  strength  of  the  repulsive,  responding  to  the 
poetic  memories  of  all.  He  rides  on  the  back  of  the 
Centaur  Chiron,  on  which  once  Helen  had  ridden  ; 
Chiron  bears  him  to  the  house  of  Manto  to  be  healed 
of  his  love.  Faust  will  not  be  healed :  but  from  the 
house  of  Manto  there  is  a  path  down  to  the  realms  of 
Persephone.  Faust  is  seen  no  more  in  this  Act ;  but  we 
shall  hear  how  from  this  region  of  Persephone  Helen  has 
ascended  to  meet  Faust  in  the  third  Act.  It  is  equally 
easy  to  follow  Mephistopheles  enjoying  himself  on 
this  Classical  Walpurgis  Night :  how  he  caps  puns 
with  the  Griffins,  cuddles  the  Sphinxes,  flirts  wdth  the 
Lamiae,  and  finally  is  coached  by  the  hideous  Phorkyads 
for  his  part  in  Act  III. 

The  rest  of  the  Act  centres  about  Homunculus  seek- 
ing genesis  as  a  real  being.  Earthquake  appears  on 
this  night  of  magic,  and  with  Atlas-like  gesture  has 
pushed  through  the  earth's  green  surface  a  newly 
formed  mountain.  Bushy  forest  spreading  soon  clothes 
its  face.  Life  begins  to  appear  on  this  new  world : 
griffins  and  emmets  are  seen  pushing  their  gold  trade ; 
pygmies,  with  dactyls  for  slaves,  organize  war,  and 

[268] 


GOETHE'S  VERSION  OF  FAUST 

prey  on  the  ranks  of  herons ;  a  moral  element  seems  to 
come  into  the  new  world  when  cranes  —  the  very  cranes 
who  once  avenged  Ibycus  —  fly  over  the  scene  threaten- 
ing judgment  from  on  high.  It  is  at  this  point  that 
Homunculus  appears,  following  two  philosophers  he 
has  heard  disputing  of  nature  :  Anaxagoras  contending 
for  fire  and  the  eruptive  theory  of  creation,  Thales 
claiming  the  creative  supremacy  of  water.  Pointing 
to  the  new  world  created  in  a  single  night  Anaxagoras 
seems  to  have  the  advantage,  and  he  offers  Homun- 
culus the  sovereignty  of  the  realm.  But  Homunculus 
is  cautious,  and  will  first  hear  Thales;  Thales  points 
to  the  advancing  army  of  cranes,  who  swoop  down  upon 
the  pygmies,  and  bring  retribution  for  the  slaughtered 
herons.  Anaxagoras,  worsted  for  the  moment,  appeals 
to  the  Moon,  whose  fearful  craters  proclaim  her  the 
head  of  the  eruptive  interest.  The  appeal  is  instantly 
answered :  at  first  it  seems  as  if  the  Moon  itself 
was  descending,  but  the  bright  disk  turns  black,  and 
a  mass  of  meteoric  stone  blots  out  the  new-made  world 
and  the  life  that  is  upon  it  into  a  shapeless  mass  of  ruin. 
Thephilosophy  of  Anaxagoras  is  routed,  and  Homunculus 
attaches  himself  to  Thales  and  the  philosophy  of  water. 
For  all  the  rest  of  the  Act  we  are  in  the  realm  of 
water  genesis.  The  scene  has  gradually  moved :  from 
the  Pharsalian  Fields,  on  a  tributary  of  the  river 
Peneus,  to  the  river  itself;  now  to  the  rocky  coves  of 
the  ^gean  sea,  in  which  the  river  Peneus  empties 
itself.  It  is  a  scene  of  beautiful  moonlight ;  in  exquisite 
songs  the  Sirens  interpret  each  phase  like  a  Chorus. 
It  is  amid  such  surroundings  that  we  have  presented, 

[269] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

in  alternation,  the  imperfect  and  the  true  forms  of 
genesis.  First,  Nereids  and  Tritons,  wonder-forms  of 
the  sea,  are  seen  setting  out  with  noisy  joy  on  an 
Argonautic  Expedition  to  the  domain  of  the  lofty 
Kabiri :  the  reference  is  to  an  ancient  Mystery  of  the 
island  peoples,  compounded  of  Phcenician  sailor  lore 
and  Egyptian  phallic  worship.  But  —  for  all  their 
vaunting  triumph  as  they  come  back  —  the  golden 
fleece  they  bring  turns  out  to  be  no  more  than  the 
ugly,  one-sex,  dwarf  Kabiri, — the  phallic  element  of 
the  Mystery.  All  mock  these  malformations,  "with 
earthen  pots  for  models,"  strange  gods ''ever  begetting 
themselves  anew"  :  the  suggestion  is  of  self-generation, 
one-sex  generation,  perhaps  the  imperfect  reproduction 
modern  science  studies  as  parthenogenesis.  Mean- 
while, Homunculus  has  been  brought  by  Thales  to 
Nereus,  in  whom  all  beings  of  the  sea  world  find  a 
common  ancestor ;  Nereus  has  grudgingly  given  the 
hint  that  Proteus  is  the  wondrous  personage  from 
whom  to  hear  the  plan  of  Being  and  its  transformations. 
The  second  of  our  ascending  stages  thus  brings  us  to 
the  beautiful  Greek  myth  of  Proteus,  whose  very  name 
is  of  kindred  root  with  our  modern  protoplasm :  the 
Proteus  who,  grasped  firmly  by  his  captor,  changes 
into  every  form  of  things  in  nature,  yet  at  the  end  is 
found  one  and  the  same  !  From  this  Proteus  Homun- 
culus learns  the  law  of  the  evolution  he  seeks  :  — 

On  the  broad  ocean's  breast  must  thou  begin ! 
One  starts  there  first  within  a  narrow  pale, 
And  finds,  destroying  lower  forms,  enjoyment : 
Little  by  little,  then,  one  climbs  the  scale, 
[270] 


GOETHE'S  VERSION  OF  FAUST 

And  fits  himself  for  loftier  employment.  .  .  . 
There,  by  eternal  canons  wending, 
Through  thousand,  myriad  forms  ascending, 
Thou  shalt  attain  in  time  to  Man. 

But  the  human  will  be  the  final  term  of  the  scale  of 
evolution :  — 

Struggle  not  to  higher  orders  ! 

Once  Man,  within  the  hiunan  borders, 

Then  all  is  at  an  end  for  thee. 

To  the  general  conception  of  Water  genesis  this  second 
idea  has  been  added  of  evolutionary  stages ;  there  is 
still  lacking  the  indispensable  first  link  of  the  ascend- 
ing chain.  But  before  this  another  mode  of  imperfect 
genesis  must  appear.  The  Telchines  of  Rhodes  ride 
past  on  sea-horses  and  dragons,  wielding  the  trident 
of  Neptune  which  they  forged,  and  boasting  how  — 

We  were  the  first  whose  devotion  began 

To  shape  the  high  Gods  in  the  image  of  Man. 

But  this  is  mocked  at  as  artificial  creation,  dead  works 
cast  in  bronze :  their  shining  forms  of  Gods  an  earth- 
quake was  able  to  overthrow.  Now  the  Sirens  see  the 
doves  of  Aphrodite  descending  to  head  the  procession 
of  Galatea  her  successor :  in  Galatea  will  be  attained 
the  final  triumph  —  the  love  union  of  sexes  that  makes 
the  first  link  of  the  evolutionary  chain.  But  even  as 
the  procession  is  passing  by,  yet  another  false  note  is  to 
be  struck  :  the  lovely  Dorides  —  the  Graces  of  the  sea 
—  turn  to  ask  from  Nereus  the  boon  of  immortality 
for  the  sailor  boys  they  have  rescued  and  made  their 
loves.     The  boon  is  denied  :  the  union  of  mortals  with 

[271] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

immortals  is  as  fluctuating  as  the  waves  on  which  the 
Sea  Graces  are  riding.  Now  the  full  triumph  of 
Galatea  fills  the  scene :  Galatea  rides  on  her  shell, 
and  all  the  creatures  of  the  sea  fall  into  the  procession ; 
the  universal  adoration  proclaims  water  the  source  of 
Ufe,  water  the  only  force  for  its  sustentation. 

From  Water  was  everything  first  created  ! 

Water  doth  everything  still  sustain ! 

Ocean,  grant  us  thine  endless  reign  ! 

If  the  clouds  thou  wert  sending  not, 

The  swelling  streams  wert  spending  not, 

The  winding  rivers  bending  not. 

And  all  in  thee  were  ending  not, 

Could  mountains,  and  plains,  and  the  world  itself,  be  ? 

The  freshest  existence  is  nourished  by  thee. 

The  head  of  the  procession  has  passed  around  a  bend 
of  the  coast  when  a  new  mystery  is  added  :  around  the 
spot  reached  by  the  shell  on  which  Galatea  rides  a 
fiery  marvel  lights  up  with  more  than  moonlight  the 
heaving  billows.  Drawn  by  the  force  of  Eros  to  the 
side  of  Galatea,  the  generative  flame  has  broken 
through  the  phial  of  glass,  and  Homunculus  has  at- 
tained the  first  link  in  the  evolutionary  chain  of  real 
existence. 

The  world  has  been  presented  in  the  form  of  Spec- 
tacle, and  again  in  the  form  of  Science  :  the  third  Act  is 
to  present  it  in  the  form  of  Art.  But  it  is  the  whole 
world  that  is  to  be  so  presented.  It  is  a  leading  idea 
of  Goethe,  and  his  great  contribution  to  the  philosophy 
of  poetry,  that  the  wholeness  of  art  is  to  be  found  in  the 
equable  blending  and  harmony  of  Classic  and  Romantic, 

[  272  ] 


GOETHE'S  VERSION  OF  FAUST 

the  foundation  conceptions  of  art  laid  by  the  Hellenic 
peoples  and  the  exuberance  of  free  invention  achieved 
by  mediaeval  Europe.  The  embodiment  of  this  idea 
in  the  love  of  Helen  and  Faust  is  a  masterpiece  of  our 
poet ;  one  knows  not  whether  to  admire  more  the  pro- 
fundity of  the  idea,  or  the  exquisite  poetic  scenes  in 
which  it  is  enshrined,  or  again  the  perfection  of  technical 
detail  with  which  the  design  is  carried  into  execution. 
The  Act  opens  as  Greek  tragedy;  the  illusion  is 
complete,  and  we  can  hardly  persuade  ourselves  that 
we  are  not  reading  a  drama  of  ^schylus  englished. 
The  scene  is  before  the  Palace  of  Menelaus  in  Sparta. 
The  scenic  conventions  of  the  Greek  stage  are  main- 
tained ;  in  particular,  the  trimeter  iambic  rhythm, 
which  is  the  blank  verse  of  Greek  drama,  and  which, 
though  differing  only  by  a  single  additional  foot  from 
our  own  blank  verse,  yet  sounds  so  strange  to  English 
or  German  ears,  dominates  this  part  of  the  poem,  varied 
of  course  by  the  lyrical  measures  of  the  Chorus.  We 
have  the  slow,  sculpturesque  movement  of  long-drawn 
dialogue  with  which  ancient  tragedy  elaborates  the 
opening  situation.  This  situation  is  the  return  from 
Troy;  and  Helen,  with  a  Chorus  of  captive  Trojan 
maidens,  has  been  sent  forward  by  her  husband  to 
make  preparations  for  a  sacrifice,  in  consultation  with 
the  Stewardess  of  the  house  —  the  old  crone  whose 
Phorkyad  hideousness,  we  know,  conceals  Mephis- 
topheles.  Forensic  contests  of  age  and  youth,  ugliness 
and  beauty,  are  waged  between  the  Stewardess  and  the 
Chorus.  Reminiscences  of  the  loves  of  Helen  make 
preparation  for  the  one  more  love  which  is  to  follow. 

T  [  273  ] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

At  the  right  point,  the  accelerated  rhythm  of  long 
trochaics  brings  out  the  mystery  that  is  suddenly  per- 
ceived in  the  general  situation :  Helen  is  to  prepare  a 
sacrifice,  but  the  victim  of  that  sacrifice  has  not  been 
indicated,  and  the  old  Stewardess  catches  the  idea  that 
Helen  and  the  Chorus  are  themselves  to  be  victims  to 
the  outraged  love  of  Menelaus.  The  movement  begins 
to  advance  as  the  Stewardess  suggests  the  only  way  of 
escape :  in  what  appears  to  be  a  Messenger's  Speech 
broken  by  dialogue  she  tells  what  has  happened  during 
Menelaus's  long  absence  from  his  home  —  how  a  dar- 
ing breed  of  strangers,  pressing  forth  from  Cimmerian 
night,  have  occupied  the  surrounding  country,  and  built 
their  inaccessible  fortresses.  Here  only  will  be  a  place 
of  refuge;  and,  as  trumpets  of  Menelaus  sound  an 
advance  in  the  distance,  Helen  must  make  up  her  mind 
at  once.  The  drift  of  the  whole  Act  is  conveyed  in  the 
answer  of  Helen. 

What  I  may  venture  first  to  do,  have  I  de\ased. 

A  hostile  Daemon  art  thou,  that  I  feel  full  well, 

And  much  I  fear  thou  wilt  convert  the  Good  to  Bad. 

But  first  to  yonder  fortress  now  I  follow  thee  ; 

What  then  shall  come,  I  know :  but  what  the  Queen  thereby 

As  mystery  in  her  deepest  bosom  may  conceal, 

Remain  imguessed  by  all !    Now,  Ancient,  lead  the  way  ! 

What  will  follow  will  be  no  forsaking  of  the  Classic 
under  temptation  of  the  Romantic,  but  a  marvellous 
and  unlooked  for  blending  of  the  two. 

The  modern  stage  supplants  the  ancient  as  mists 
fill  the  whole  scene ;  the  mists  dispersing  reveal  a  new 
scene,  with  the  intricate  beauties  of  Gothic  architecture, 

[274] 


GOETHE'S  VERSION  OF  FAUST 


a  "  labyrinth  of  many  castles  wondrously  combined  in 
one."  Faust  and  his  fellow-knights,  in  mediaeval 
armor,  with  all  the  pomp  of  chivalry,  receive  Helen  at 
once  as  guest  and  queen.  The  moment  Faust  speaks, 
the  ear  catches  our  modern  blank  verse  supplanting 
the  strange  Greek  metre.  As  the  scene  advances  there 
is  another  rhythmic  surprise :  rhyme,  the  great  inno- 
vation in  poetic  form  achieved  by  mediaeval  poetry, 
strikes  with  novel  effect  the  acute  ear  of  Helen. 


Helen. 


Faust. 


Helen. 

Faust. 


Helen. 
Faust. 

Helen. 

Faust. 

Helen. 


Yet  now  instruct  me  wherefore  spake  the  man 

With  strangely-sounding  speech,  friendly  and  strange ; 

Each  sound  appeared  sm  yielding  to  the  next, 

And,  when  a  word  gave  pleasure  to  the  ear, 

Another  came,  caressing  then  the  first. 

If  thee  our  people's  mode  of  speech  delight, 

O  thou  shall  be  enraptured  with  our  song. 

Which  wholly  satisfies  both  ear  and  mind  ! 

But  it  were  best  we  exercise  it  now : 

Alternate  speech  entices,  calls  it  forth. 

Canst  thou  to  me  that  lovely  speech  impart  ? 

'Tis  easy :  it  must  issue  from  the  heart ; 

And  if  the  breast  with  yearning  overflow, 

One  looks  around,  and  asks  — 

Who  shares  the  glow. 
Nor  Past  nor  Future  shades  an  hour  like  this ; 
But  wholly  in  the  Present  — 

Is  our  bliss. 
Gain,  pledge,  and  fortune  in  the  Present  stand : 
What  confirmation  does  it  ask  ? 

My  hand. 


The  advancing  trumpets  of  Menelaus  are  answered 
by  explosions  from  the  castle,  and  suggestions  of 
modern  gunpowder  warfare  mingle  with  the  scene  of 

[275] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

mediaeval  chivalry.  The  marshalling  of  the  defend- 
ing hosts  recalls  the  barbarian  races  who  have  overrun 
the  Europe  of  the  Greeks  —  Germans,  Goths,  Franks, 
Saxons,  Normans.  All  this  culminates  in  Arcadia  — 
"Arcadia  in  Sparta's  neighborhood"  —  presented  in 
sonorous  verse  as  the  union  of  Classic  and  Romantic 
in  the  domain  of  external  nature. 

With  the  change  to  this  Arcadian  scene  a  further 
stage  in  the  movement  of  the  Act  has  commenced. 
We  hear  of  the  love  of  Helen  and  Faust  as  crowned  by 
offspring,  Euphorion,  "future  master  of  all  beauty." 
We  see  the  child  in  his  broidered  garments,  with  tassels 
from  his  shoulders  flying,  fillets  fluttering  round  his 
bosom :  the  ornate  profuseness  of  romance  in  its  first 
freshness.  Again  we  see  the  boy  skipping  and  leaping 
higher  and  higher,  gently  restrained  by  his  anxious 
parents.  Now,  Euphorion  winds  in  dance  through  the 
ranks  of  the  Chorus,  romantic  exuberance  fitting  itself 
to  classic  form ;  now,  he  insists  upon  passion,  and  bears 
away  captive  a  girl  of  the  Chorus  who  turns  to  flame 
in  his  arms.  More  than  this,  Euphorion,  vainly  called 
back  by  his  parents,  leaps  farther  and  farther  up  the 
rocks ;  stands  a  youth  in  arms  in  the  midst  of  Pelops' 
land,  kindred  in  soul ;  the  path  to  Glory  opens  before 
him,  and  he  leaps  from  the  rocks.  Amid  cries  of 
Icarus,  Icarus,  he  falls  before  his  parents'  eyes.  A 
pause  in  the  movement  gives  opportunity  for  a  dra- 
matic digression,  in  which  Goethe  pays  his  tribute  to 
Byron :  pioneer  of  the  new  poetry  that  shall  blend 
classic  and  romantic,  yet  diverted  —  such  is  Goethe's 
thought  —  from  his  true  poetic  path  by  fatal  sympathy 

[276  1 


GOETHE'S  VERSION  OF  FAUST 

with  the  political  struggles  of  Greece.  The  Act  now 
reaches  its  closing  movement.  The  voice  of  Euphorion 
has  summoned  Helen  to  the  lower  world,  from  which 
she  had  come ;  her  garments  alone  remain  in  the  arms 
of  Faust,  and,  dissolving  into  clouds,  raise  him  aloft  and 
bear  him  away :  the  Mephistopheles  within  the  Phork- 
yad  interjecting  the  depreciatory  interpretation  that, 
if  the  talents  of  ancient  poetry  are  not  to  be  given,  at 
least  their  costume  may  be  lent.  The  Leader  of  the 
Chorus  follows  Helen  to  the  Shades,  rejoicing  in  the 
return  from  the  romantic  to  the  classic :  — 

from  the  magic  freed, 
The  old  ThessaHan  trollop's  mind-compelhng  spell, 
Freed  from  the  jingling  drone  of  much-bewildering  sound, 
The  ear  confusing,  and  still  more  the  inner  sense. 

Not  so  the  rest  of  the  Chorus :  their  attraction  to  the 
Elements  brings  before  us  the  enduring  achievement 
of  Greek  poetry  which  has  forever  steeped  every 
detail  of  out-of-door  nature  in  the  charm  of  imagina- 
tive suggestiveness.  One  part  of  the  Chorus  pass 
away  to  become  Wood  Spirits,  with  swaying  rustle 
of  branches  to  lure  the  rills  of  life  to  the  twigs ;  another 
part  will  bend  and  fluctuate  as  Nymphs  of  the  Reeds ; 
yet  another  part  will  hasten  with  the  brooklets  along 
meadow  and  pasture  and  meandering  curves ;  a  fourth 
part  will  girdle  the  vine-covered  hillside,  and  lead  on 
the  noisy  vintage  joy.  The  curtain  falls  on  the  empty 
scene.  But  for  a  moment  the  Phorkyad  is  seen  in 
front  of  the  curtain :  then  the  Phorkyad  disguise  is 
thrown  off,  and  Mephistopheles  makes  his  bow  to  the 
audience  as  magic  manager  of  the  whole  Act. 

[2771 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

There  is  a  fourth  aspect  under  which  the  whole 
world  is  to  be  presented :  as  Power  in  all  its  forms, 
as  War,  Glory,  State,  Enterprise.  There  is  just  the 
same  fulness  of  presentation  as  in  the  other  Acts,  but 
the  ideas  of  the  fourth  Act  can  be  much  more  briefly 
stated.  The  clouds  which  bore  Faust  away  from  the 
scenes  of  Act  III  deposit  him,  for  Act  IV,  upon  the 
lofty  heights  of  mountains ;  Mephistopheles  makes  a 
burlesque  entry  to  the  same  scene  with  the  aid  of  the 
Seven  League  Boots.  Faust  revels  in  the  sublime 
scenery ;  Mephistopheles  works  out  the  curious  theory 
that  these  rocky  vastnesses  are  nothing  but  the  bottom 
of  Hell  coughed  up  by  the  demons  under  the  irritation 
of  Hell's  sulphurous  atmosphere ;  he  claims  to  speak 
with  authority,  for  was  not  the  Devil  there  to  see  ?  These 
mountain  heights  are  the  lofty  mountain  from  which, 
in  another  historic  temptation,  all  the  kingdoms  of 
the  world  and  the  glory  of  them  were  visible  ;  and  once 
more  there  is  a  tempter  to  offer  these  varied  glories  to 
Faust.  But  only  one  of  them  has  any  attraction  for 
Faust :  this  is  the  glory  of  Enterprise  —  beneficent 
enterprise,  to  contend  against  the  lordly  Ocean,  and 
win  from  his  barren  grasp  stretches  of  land  for  the  ser- 
vice of  man.  No  sooner  has  this  first  motive  of  Enter- 
prise been  opened  than  we  pass  to  the  second  motive 
of  Act  IV  —  War.  The  connecting  link  is  that  rival 
emperors  are  contending  for  universal  dominion ;  magic 
shall  give  the  advantage  to  one  of  them,  and  then 
Faust  for  his  reward  shall  demand  the  sea  strand  as 
subject  for  his  enterprise.  The  scenes  of  the  fourth 
Act  are  thus  filled  with  the  spectacle  of  war  —  that 

[278] 


GOETHE'S  VERSION  OF  FAUST 

mingling  of  power  and  glory  which  during  the  greater 
part  of  the  world's  history  has  proved  the  master  temp- 
tation to  strong  souls.  Of  course,  the  element  of  bur- 
lesque is  always  at  hand :  like  king  David  Mephis- 
topheles  has  his  three  mighty  men  of  war,  and  these 
are  Bully,  Grip,  and  Hang-on.  It  is  the  magic  com- 
manded by  Mephistopheles  that  determines  the  victory  : 
the  secret  powers  that  lurk  in  crystals  are  enlisted; 
spectral  floods  and  spectral  fires  close  the  paths  of  the 
foe ;  spectral  chivalry  fills  the  cast-off  armor  accumu- 
lated through  centuries  of  mediaeval  warfare.  The 
motive  of  War  passes  naturally  into  the  motive  of 
State  as  the  victorious  empire  is  seen  organizing  itself 
into  a  constitution  that  shall  last  forever.  We  have 
before  us  the  hierarchy  of  Arch-Marshal,  Arch- 
Chamberlain,  Arch-High-Steward,  Arch-Cupbearer, 
Arch-Chancellor:  hereditary  dignitaries  who  will  add 
to  all  their  other  dignities  the  special  privilege  of 
electing  the  Emperor.  But  in  the  political  theory  of 
the  Middle  Ages  State  necessarily  implies  Church ; 
the  Arch-Chancellor  is  also  Arch-Bishop;  in  the  one 
capacity  he  has  humbly  received,  in  the  other  he  im- 
periously demands,  hush  money  for  the  Church  in 
consideration  of  the  sorcery  by  which  the  Emperor's 
victory  has  been  won.  Each  concession  brings  a 
further  demand,  until  at  last  ''the  total  income  of  the 
land  forever"  is  mulcted  with  tithes  and  levies  for  the 
maintenance  of  the  Church.  But  even  this  is  not 
enough,  for  there  is  the  hypothetical  land  to  be  created 
by  the  enterprise  of  Faust :  true,  the  land  is  not  yet 
in  existence,  but  patience  is  one  of  the  Christian  virtues, 

[279] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

and  the  Church  will  know  how  to  wait  when  the  Em- 
peror's word  has  secured  its  rights  of  trover. 

We  are  engaged,  let  it  be  remembered,  with  that 
element  of  the  general  Faust  Story  which  makes  the 
temptation  of  Faust  to  be  the  presentation  to  him  of 
the  whole  world.  This,  in  the  version  of  Goethe,  has 
the  modification  of  the  wager  in  heaven,  that  in  no 
part  of  the  world  as  presented  by  Mephistopheles  will 
Faust  rest  satisfied.  Faust  had  yearned  for  the  ideal 
beauty  of  Helen,  but  Helen  has  vanished  out  of  his 
grasp.  In  the  idea  of  beneJScent  enterprise  Faust 
has  seen  a  field  in  which  to  look  for  satisfaction,  but 
the  enterprise  must  be  prosecuted  to  its  attainment 
before  it  can  be  seen  whether  the  satisfaction  will  be 
secured.  In  the  four  Acts  so  far  reviewed,  the  Great 
World  has  been  kept  entirely  separate  from  the  world 
of  the  Individual  life  which  had  been  the  subject  of 
the  First  Part  of  the  poem.  In  Act  V  the  two  worlds 
come  into  collision.  First,  from  other  individual  lives 
disturbances  come  to  the  world  enterprise  that  is  being 
prosecuted.  The  personal  obstinacy  of  a  Baucis  and 
Philemon  can  mar  the  perfection  of  Faust's  great 
scheme,  and  the  story  of  Naboth's  Vineyard  is  dupli- 
cated. Large  enterprises  must  be  carried  on  by  the 
agencies  of  others,  and  the  corruptness  of  these  agents 
— the  piratical  commerce  of  Mephistopheles'  followers 
—  disturbs  the  conscience  of  Faust.  Again,  his  own 
personal  life  comes  in  as  a  disturbing  force :  he  feels 
how  his  has  been  a  haunted  life,  ever  since  he  cursed 
the  common  ideals  of  mankind,  and  embraced  the  magic 
which  is  illegitimate  power.    But  there  is  a  disturbing 

[280] 


GOETHE'S  VERSION  OF  FAUST 

force  far  more  serious  than  all  these.  The  magic  that 
could  restore  to  Faust  the  youth  he  had  lost  cannot 
avail  to  free  a  mortal  being  from  his  mortality :  old  age 
is  creeping  upon  our  hero  as  the  grand  enterprise  is 
being  worked  out,  and  from  the  opening  of  the  fifth 
Act  it  is  clear  that  the  inevitable  end  is  not  far  off. 
No  magic  can  secure  against  Care.  The  first  assault  of 
Care  is  repelled  by  Faust :  his  life  has  indeed  quietened 
down  from  stormy  to  discreet,  yet  is  ever  moving  on- 
ward. The  second  assault  of  Care  smites  Faust  with 
bhndness :  Faust  is  only  roused  to  new  energy,  to 
complete  the  great  work  before  it  is  too  late.  In  his 
blindness  he  cannot  catch  the  irony  by  which  the 
fresh  workmen  summoned  by  Mephistopheles  are 
digging,  not  the  great  trench,  but  Faust's  own  grave. 
Faust  is  eager  with  the  idea  that,  though  he  may  not 
himself  attain  the  goal  of  his  great  enterprise,  yet  he 
may  still  —  by  removing  the  obstacle  of  the  poisonous 
marsh  —  secure  it  for  attainment  by  the  labor  of  others. 
He  suddenly  catches  the  thought  that  this  substitute 
is  a  higher  thing  than  the  original  idea :  — 

Yes  !  to  this  thought  I  hold  with  firm  persistence ; 
The  last  result  of  wisdom  stamps  it  true : 
He  only  earns  his  freedom  and  existence, 
Who  daily  conquers  them  anew. 

Not  attainment,  but  unceasing  endeavor:  this  is  the 
summum  bonum  of  existence,  to  which  Faust  will 
commit  himself  as  his  supreme  satisfaction.  But  he 
has  reached  his  supreme  truth  at  the  precise  moment 
which  fate  has  made  the  moment  of  his  mortality :  as 
he  speaks  the  word  he  falls  a  corpse.      When  he  first 

1281] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

entered  into  compact  with  Mephistopheles,  Faust 
wished  his  first  moment  of  satisfaction  to  be  his  last :  — 

Then  let  the  death-bell  chime  the  token, 
Then  art  thou  from  thy  service  free  ! 
The  clock  may  stop,  the  hand  be  broken, 
Then  Time  be  finished  unto  me  ! 

His  words  seem  now  to  be  echoed  by  those  who  stand 
around  his  dead  body. 

Mephistopheles.    Time  is  lord,  on  earth  the  old  man  lies. 

The  clock  stands  still  — 
Chorus.  Stands  still !  silent  as  midnight,  now  I 

The  index  falls. 
Mephistopheles.  It  falls ;  and  it  is  finished,  here ! 

Chortis.  'Tis  past ! 

The  wager  made  with  Mephistopheles  seems  to  have 
been  lost  by  Faust,  for  in  his  last  thought  of  unceasing 
aspiration  he  has  reached  a  moment  of  satisfaction. 
But  the  wager  made  in  heaven  has  been  lost  by  Mephis- 
topheles :  the  sole  satisfaction  acknowledged  by  Faust 
has  been  eternal  dissatisfaction. 

All  this  detailed  exposition  has  seemed  necessary  in 
order  to  do  justice  to  this  part  of  our  subject.  The 
triple  formula  of  the  Faust  Story  applies,  we  have  seen, 
to  all  versions  alike ;  yet  the  different  versions,  each  for 
itself,  put  their  own  interpretations  upon  the  separate 
terms  of  the  formula.  The  conception  of  the  "whole 
world,"  so  simple  in  the  earlier  versions,  becomes  a 
thing  of  immense  fulness  and  complexity  in  the  version 
which  is  the  product  of  nineteenth-century  culture ;  for 

[282] 


GOETHE'S  VERSION  OF  FAUST 

what  indeed  is  the  function  of  culture  but  to  give  ful- 
ness and  richness  to  our  conception  of  the  world  ?  It 
will  be  different  with  the  third  element  of  the  formula, 
that  which  is  concerned  with  the  saving  or  the  loss  of 
the  soul.  The  prologue  to  Goethe's  version  has  had 
the  effect  of  throwing  this  question  into  the  back- 
ground ;  what  the  discussion  in  heaven  has  brought 
to  the  front  is  a  kindred,  yet  different,  question  —  the 
inquiry  what  will  constitute  spiritual  satisfaction  to  a 
soul  inherently  so  noble  as  the  soul  of  Faust.  Yet 
the  problem  of  salvation,  and  what  may  be  the  opposite 
of  salvation,  is  by  no  means  eliminated  from  Goethe's 
version.  We  may  indeed  forget  this  issue  during 
the  greater  part  of  the  action.  But  the  two  final  scenes 
of  the  Second  Part  constitute  in  reality  an  Epilogue 
to  the  poem  as  a  whole ;  this  Epilogue  draws  to  a  focus 
the  suggestions  of  the  whole  poem  on  the  question  in 
what  the  salvation  of  a  soul  shall  consist. 

From  the  opening  moment  of  the  action  Faust 
appears  a  sinner;  for  he  is  seen  betaking  himself  to 
magic,  which  is  the  conventional  symbol  in  the  drama 
for  illegitimate  knowledge  and  power.  And  this  sin 
of  magic  —  if  it  be  a  sin  —  is  maintained  from  the 
first  moment  to  the  last;  Mephistopheles  enters  into 
the  action  only  as  a  more  potent  magician,  who  has 
power  to  present  for  Faust's  acceptance  the  whole 
world.  Yet  the  motive  which  has  led  to  this  sin  is 
nothing  but  the  unquenchable  aspiration  after  truth. 
Nothing  Mephistopheles  offers  can  satisfy  this  aspira- 
tion ;  it  maintains  itself  up  to  the  last  moment  but  one, 
and  the  only  change  which  the  moment  of  death  brings 

[283], 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

is  that  the  aspiration  itself  seems  to  Faust  higher  than 
that  to  which  he  had  aspired.  Again :  in  the  love 
episode,  by  the  manipulation  of  Mephistopheles, 
Faust  is  brought  to  a  single  moment  of  distraction,  in 
which  he  suddenly  surrenders  to  gross  passion  that 
brings  spiritual  ruin  to  lover  and  loved  alike.  Yet 
before  the  curtain  falls  on  the  First  Part,  a  voice  from 
heaven  proclaims  Margaret  saved ;  and  her  cry  to  her 
lover  seems  to  invite  him  to  share  in  her  salvation.  So 
far  as  the  action  of  the  poem  goes,  there  is  nothing  more 
than  this  that  bears  on  the  question  of  the  salvation  or 
loss  of  souls. 

But  the  final  two  scenes,  though  not  so  denominated 
by  the  poet,  in  reality  constitute  an  Epilogue  to  the 
whole  poem;  and  these  carry  the  problem  of  Faust's 
salvation  into  the  region  beyond  the  grave.  Both 
scenes  take  the  form  of  Mysteries,  in  the  mediaeval 
sense  of  the  term.  The  first  might  well  be  called  the 
Mystery  of  Demons :  in  the  full  spirit  of  mediaeval 
drama  it  presents  demons,  summoned  by  Mephis- 
topheles, struggling  for  the  soul  of  Faust,  but  driven 
away  with  celestial  roses  flung  by  the  Chorus  of  rescu- 
ing Angels.  This  scene  however  gives  us  the  end, 
not  of  Faust,  but  of  Mephistopheles :  it  is  his  final 
outburst  of  humorous  diablerie  before  he  quits  the 
role  of  tempter,  which  has  proved  a  failure  in  his  hands. 
That  which  follows  may  be  called  the  Mystery  of 
Love,  and  the  word  Love  rings  through  it  from  begin- 
ning to  end. 

The  Mystic  Chorus  with  which  it  opens  describes 
the  scene :    it  might  seem   some   Holy  Mountain  of 

[284] 


GOETHE'S  VERSION  OF  FAUST 

Isaiah's  vision,  in  which  the  beasts  forget  their  fierce- 
ness, and  Love  reigns  throughout.  With  an  echo  of 
Spanish  devotion  it  is  also  a  Mountain  of  Anchorites, 
who,  in  their  several  stations,  symbolize  varied  states 
of  the  meditative  life.  First,  the  Anchorite  of  Ecstasy 
sings  how  the  storm  of  ecstasy  purifies  the  soul,  and 
the  Star  of  Love  can  shine  out.  Then  the  Anchorite 
of  Contemplation  surveys  all  the  nature  scenes  around 
as  so  many  processes  of  Love.  The  third  speaker  intro- 
duces an  idea  strange  to  most  readers,  one  borrowed 
from  the  speculations  of  Swedenborg.  What  future 
is  there  for  the  souls  of  Infants,  who  have  died  too 
young  for  the  sin  that  might  blast  them,  too  young  also 
for  the  development  of  faculties  with  which  they  might 
appreciate  heaven  ?  The  idea  is  of  some  mystic  inter- 
communication between  these  and  the  souls  of  adults, 
who,  as  it  were,  lend  to  the  infant  souls  the  faculties 
with  which  they  may  understand  the  universe  they 
have  never  beheld.  The  third  speaker  is  the  Anchorite 
of  this  Seraphic  Service :  as  the  infant  souls  float  past 
him  on  the  mountain  he  incorporates  them  for  the 
moment  into  himself,  and  through  his  eyes  they  look 
out  upon  the  world.  But  they  find  this  world  too 
gloomy ;  and  he  dismisses  them  to  a  revelation  of  Love 
as  they  ascend. 

It  is  at  this  point  that  the  Angels  enter,  bearing  the 
soul  of  Faust :  from  their  words  we  learn  the  scheme 
of  redemption.  By  his  unconquerable  aspiration  after 
truth  the  soul  of  Faust,  however  sullied  by  magic  and 
passion  in  this  world,  has  been  preserved  for  redemp- 
tion beyond  the  grave. 

[285] 


THE   FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

Whoe'er  aspires  unweariedly 

Is  not  beyond  redeeming. 

And  if  he  feels  the  grace  of  Love 

That  from  on  high  is  given, 

The  Blessed  Hosts,  that  wait  above. 

Shall  welcome  him  to  heaven ! 

Yet  the  Angels  feel  the  heavy  weight  of  the  soul  they 
are  bearing,  in  which  elements  of  the  earthy  have  be- 
come incorporated. 

When  every  element 
The  mind's  high  forces 
Have  seized,  subdued,  and  blent. 
No  Angel  divorces 
Twin-natures  single  grown, 
That  inly  mate  them : 
Eternal  Love  alone 
Can  separate  them. 

The  Infant  souls  come  floating  by;  the  mystic  incor- 
poration takes  place  between  these  and  the  soul  of 
Faust.  He  gains  from  them  the  innocence  of  celestial 
infancy,  and  the  earthflakes  that  have  clung  to  him  are 
dissipated.  What  they  gain  from  him  is  the  faculties 
that  can  take  in  the  universe,  and  the  power  of  growth. 

With  mighty  limbs  he  towers 
Already  above  us ; 
He,  for  this  love  of  ours, 
Will  richher  love  us. 
Early  were  we  removed, 
Ere  life  could  reach  us ; 
Yet  he  hath  learned  and  proved, 
And  he  will  teach  us. 
12861 


GOETHE'S  VERSION  OF  FAUST 

Now  a  fourth  speaker  of  the  Mystery  introduces  us  to 
a  higher  region.  It  is  the  Doctor  of  the  Blessed  Mary, 
his  Hfe  dedicated  to  the  mystery  of  the  Virgin-Mother, 
in  which  mediseval  theology  saw  the  meeting-point  of 
love  and  purity.  Through  his  powers  of  vision  we  see 
the  Mother  All-glorious  floating  on  high,  and  hear  around 
her  the  Litany  of  Penitence  from  women  —  Margaret 
amongst  them  —  who  have  sinned  and  who  also  have 
loved.  To  this  region  the  soul  of  Faust  approaches : 
already  from  celestial  infancy  he  has  reached  celestial 
youth,  yet  is  still  dazed  with  the  light  of  this  new  being. 
Margaret  asks  and  obtains  the  boon  of  guiding  Faust 
in  this  higher  region  by  the  strength  of  the  bond  that 
draws  him  towards  her. 

Into  this  region  of  celestial  love  the  action  of  the  poem 
may  not  follow.  But  the  Mystic  Chorus  concludes  the 
Epilogue  and  makes  the  thought  complete.  Here  how- 
ever, as  elsewhere,  obscurity  has  been  caused  by  attempts 
at  too  literal  translation.  Compound  words,  and  other 
forms  of  poetic  compression,  that  are  beauties  in  German, 
are  foreign  to  the  genius  of  the  English  language.  It  is 
vain  to  translate  the  key-word  Ewigweibliche  by  Ever- 
feminine,  or  Woman-soul.  Such  literalisms  strike  a  false 
note  of  interpretation :  the  stress  is  not  on  feminine  as 
distinguished  from  masculine,  on  woman  as  distin- 
guished from  man,  but  upon  the  linking  of  the  two,  upon 
the  mutuality  of  the  sexes,  if  such  an  expression  might 
be  permitted.  For  the  spirit  of  this  Epilogue  Mar- 
garet is  not  more  necessary  to  Faust  than  Faust  is  to 
Margaret.  It  is  only  by  free  paraphrase  that  this 
Mystic  Chorus  will  yield  its  thought. 

[287] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

This  transitory  world  is  but  a  symbol : 

There  is  the  thing  symbolized. 
What  here  is  mystic,  indescribable, 

There  is  a  thing  achieved. 
The  Love  that  links  man  and  woman  is  a  thing  eternal, 

Drawing  us  upward  to  this  goal. 

Faust  by  quenchless  aspiration  for  truth  has  been  led 
to  sin  ;  in  his  passionate  love  he  has  slipped  into  spiritual 
folly.  But  his  aspiration  has  kept  his  soul  alive  for  re- 
demption beyond  death ;  the  love  of  Margaret  has  all 
the  while  been  leading  him  to  a  region  of  celestial  love  in 
which  the  redemption  will  be  complete. 


This  chapter  has  already  run  to  inordinate  length ;  its 
length  would  have  to  be  doubled  if  full  justice  were  to 
be  done  to  the  Festus  of  Philip  Bailey.  This  is  indeed 
one  of  the  strange  things  of  the  literary  world.  In 
powers  of  poetic  execution  Bailey  appears  to  be  a  poet 
of  front  rank ;  to  every  difficulty  of  philosophic  thought, 
to  every  demand  of  imaginative  setting,  he  is  always  ade- 
quate. And  yet  he  seems  almost  unreadable :  most  of  us 
have  had  with  this  book  the  experience  of  reaching  with 
the  eye  the  bottom  of  a  page  and  then  realizing  that  the 
brain  has  taken  nothing  in.  The  explanation  seems  to 
be  a  lack  in  this  poet  of  any  sense  of  proportion.  It 
suggests  that  there  is  such  a  thing  as  poetic  intemper- 
ance ;  even  Pegasus  needs  the  rein,  but  Bailey  can  never 
resist  the  creative  impulse ;  not  the  main  thought  only, 
but  every  detail,  and  each  detail  of  that  detail,  is  fitted 
with  simile  and  poetic  enlargement,  until  outline  is  lost 

[288] 


BAILEY'S  VERSION  OF  FAUST 

in  general  dazzle.  To  difficulties  springing  from  this 
splendid  obscurity  of  poetic  style  are  to  be  added  diffi- 
culties of  subject-matter  and  literary  form.  The  poem 
is  the  product  of  modern  speculative  mysticism,  giving 
creative  form  to  a  mass  of  theological,  ontological,  astro- 
logical thinking,  on  a  basis  of  traditional  orthodoxy. 
The  literary  form  resembles  the  Rhapsodic  Drama  of 
the  Bible :  scenic  elements  extending  to  the  whole 
universe,  and  dialogue  supplemented  by  episodic  dis- 
quisitions, which  —  dialogue  only  in  form  —  may  run 
to  a  thousand  lines  in  length.  We  are  however  con- 
cerned with  the  poem  only  as  one  of  the  Faust  stories : 
its  variations  of  the  type  are  interesting,  and  admit  of 
brief  statement.^ 

The  most  notable  distinction  of  this  version  is  that  its 
hero  is  not  an  individual  but  a  type.  Festus  is  the 
"last  man,"  as  Adam  was  the  first  man ;  he  is  identified 
with  the  conclusion  of  human  history  as  Adam  with  its 
commencement.  The  fall  and  rise  of  Festus  is  thus  im- 
plicated with  the  destruction  of  earth  and  the  end  of 
time.  We  may  think  of  the  poem  as  combining  the 
two  great  literary  stories  of  temptation,  the  Paradise 
Lost  and  the  Faust  Story;  Milton's  poem  opens  with 
the  Fall  of  Satan,  Bailey's  concludes  with  the  Rise  of 
Lucifer.  This  combination  specially  affects  the  agent  of 
temptation.  Lucifer  is  essentially  the  Satan  of  Milton, 
colored  in  manner  with  the  Mephistopheles  of  Goethe. 
Again :    all  the  Faust  stories  involve  traditional  bib- 

1  The  reader  must  be  careful  to  secure  the  final  version  of  Festus, 
(Routledge  &  Sons,  1903)  :  this  differs  fundamentally  both  in  matter 
and  form  from  earlier  versions. 

D  [  289  ] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

lical  theology,  but  that  traditional  theology  has  its 
different  schools;  there  is  especially  the  difference 
between  those  that  rest  on  free  will  and  those  that  deny 
it.  This  version  of  Faust,  unlike  the  rest,  assumes  the 
Doctrine  of  Election.  Festus  is  the  last  man  in  the 
sense  that  he  is  necessary  to  make  up  the  number  of 
the  elect.  The  denial  of  free  will  carries  with  it  the 
omnipotence  of  Divine  grace. 

He  sole  hath  full  free  will  whose  will  is  fate.  .  .  . 
Free  will  is  but  necessity  in  play, 
The  clattering  of  the  golden  reins  which  guide 
The  thunderfooted  coursers  of  the  sun. 

This  must  necessarily  affect  the  whole  conception  of 
evil  in  the  world. 

Evil  and  good  are  God's  right  hand  and  left. 

All  things  having  emanated  from  God,  and  being  des- 
tined to  return  to  God,  evil  becomes  in  things  an  acci- 
dent attaching  to  the  degree  of  separation  from  the 
source :  — 

For  spirit  is  refracted  in  the  flesh, 

And  shows  as  crooked  what  is  straightness'  self. 

Lucifer  himself  is  but  the  shadow  the  whole  creation 
casts  from  God's  own  light.  Such  a  conception  of  evil 
must  altogether  alter  the  significance  of  temptation. 
In  this  poem  we  can  have  no  barter  of  the  soul's  future 
for  the  world's  present. 

Lucifer.    With  those  whom  Death  hath  drawn  I  meddle  not.  .  .  . 
Festus.  Am  I  tempted  thus 

UntomyfaU? 

[290] 


BAILEY'S  VERSION  OF  FAUST 

Lucifer.  God  wills  or  lets  it  be. 

How  thinkest  thou  ? 
Festus.  That  I  will  go  with  thee. 

Lucifer.    From  God  I  come. 
Festus.  I  do  believe  thee,  spirit. 

He  will  not  let  thee  harm  me.     Him  I  love, 

And  thee  I  fear  not. 

There  is  indeed  an  incident  parallel  to  the  wager  in 
heaven  of  Goethe's  version;  but  the  philosophy  of 
Bailey's  poem  takes  the  point  out  of  this. 

God.  He  is  thine 

To  tempt.     Him  richen  with  what  gifts  thou  wilt, 
What  might,  what  faculty.     He'll  still  own  grace 
Not  thine.    Upon  his  soul  no  absolute  power 
Hast  thou.    All  souls  be  mine ;  and  mine  for  aye. 

As  with  the  Temptation  of  Christ  in  the  wilderness,  all 
the  tempter  can  do  is  to  make  display  of  the  world  to  test 
its  effect  upon  the  tempted. 

But  what  is  the  "world"  so  displayed?  We  saw  the 
immense  content  put  upon  this  term  by  the  version  of 
Goethe ;  yet  even  this  is  bounded  by  this  earth  of  ours 
and  all  that  it  contains.  The  world  of  Bailey's  poem  ex- 
tends to  the  whole  universe,  a  universe  enlarged  by  the 
astrological  speculations  of  mysticism.  The  journey 
of  Festus  and  Lucifer  takes  them  over  the  surface  of  our 
globe  and  all  its  countries  and  peoples ;  into  the  mys- 
teries of  its  interior ;  through  interstellar  space,  through 
all  the  worlds  that  are  scattered  through  space.  And  all 
these  enter  into  the  scheme  of  the  poem.  Not  only  are 
there  guardian  angels  of  individuals,  but  each  world  has 
its  guardian  angel,  and  is  the  abode  of  kindred  spirits  who 

[291] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

once  belonged  to  earth.  More  than  this :  a  vein  of 
ontological  speculation  suggests  the  worlds  themselves 
as  having  a  being  of  their  own. 

Oh  !  I  have  seen 
World  questioned,  comforting  world,  yes,  seen  them  weep 
Each  other,  if  but  for  one  red  hour  echpsed ; 
Or,  as  when,  but  now,  Jove's  giant  orb,  obscured 
By  blood-wet  clouds,  dread  proof  of  deadly  strife 
In  his  breast,  disruptive,  if  subdued ;  unmoved 
His  sun-sired  kin  look  on  him,  and  pass  by ; 
Earth  only  pitiful  of  the  idol  sphere. 
Sore  struggling  with  his  foes,  herself  unfree 
From  \dolent  ill-wishers,  waves  many  a  mist. 
Anxious  upon  her  moimtain  crests,  in  sign 
Of  astral  sympathy.^ 

The  great  bulk  of  the  poem  is  filled  out  with  what  be- 
longs to  such  astral  speculations.  What  the  tempter 
then  has  to  offer  to  Festus  is  knowledge  of  the  whole 
universe  so  enlarged,  with  power  over  the  human  world 
exercised  for  the  good  of  mankind. 

The  poem  has  underplots.  The  Student  —  in  whom 
perhaps  we  have  an  echo  of  Goethe's  Wagner  —  and 
Helen  seem  to  illustrate  seekers  after  truth  of  a  differ- 
ent type  from  Festus,  the  Student  animated  by  ambition 
to  serve,  Helen,  (apparently)  only  by  curiosity.  A  not- 
able episode  of  the  poem  is  the  "Occult  Adventure,"  in 
which  these  two  perish,  while  Festus  survives.  But  the 
greatest  episode  is  that  which  has  the  boldness  to  present 
Lucifer  in  love.  In  human  form,  with  the  weird  beauty 
that  is  appropriate  to  a  fallen  star,  he  has  drawn  the  love 

^  Festus,  Canto  I,  page  30. 
[292] 


BAILEY'S  VERSION  OF  FAUST 

of  the  maiden  Elissa.  Lucifer  is  using  this  Elissa  as  a 
bait  in  his  scheme  of  temptation ;  he  intrusts  her  to  the 
safe-keeping  of  his  comrade  Festus,  fully  designing  that 
Festus  shall  be  overpowered  by  her  charms  and  betray 
his  trust.  As  regards  Festus,  the  plot  succeeds :  this 
fall  of  Festus  into  ignoble  passion  must  be  followed  by 
agonies  of  remorse,  and  the  taste  of  Hell's  purgatorial 
cleansing,  before  he  can  recover  his  position.  But  Lu- 
cifer, with  dread  amazement,  finds  himself  caught  in  the 
irresistible  net  of  love.  And  this  is  the  first  note  of  the 
change  that  is  to  bring  about  his  own  redemption. 

Farewell,  ye  angels ;  look  your  last  on  me. 

I  tempt  no  more.     I  am  tempted ;  but  of  good. 

He  knows  not  that  this  is  part  of  the  whole  Divine 
scheme  of  the  world's  salvation  :  — 

That,  as  by  angel  man  through  woman  fell, 
Through  her,  shall  this  first-fallen  again  too  rise ; 
All  life  in  ultimate  perfection  linked 
By  him  who  oft-times  chooses  meanest  means 
To  compass  world- vast  purposes. 

Divine  grace  being  omnipotent,  Lucifer  cannot  resist  it ; 
evil  being  but  an  intermediate  stage,  he  who  fell  as  high- 
est of  angels  becomes  highest  of  angels  in  his  restora- 
tion. 

Then  highest,  humblest  I,  eternal  Lord  ! 
Of  all  thou  hast  made,  shall  be ;  and  by  thy  word 
All  recreative,  renewed,  transformed.     I  feel 
The  essential  in  me  trembling,  like  to  ice  spears 
Feeling  their  way  'neath  star-frost  o'er  a  lake. 

The  goal  of  the  poem  is  thus  reached.  Lucifer  and  Fes- 
tus alike  are  swept  into  the  current  of  universal  salva- 

[293] 


THE  FIVE  LITERARY  BIBLES 

tion.  From  God  all  things  had  proceeded ;  evil,  indi- 
vidual wills,  had  been  but  transient  phenomena;  into 
God  all  things  return. 

World  without  end,  and  I  am  God  alone. 
The  aye,  the  infinite,  the  whole,  the  One. 
I  only  was ;  nor  matter  else,  nor  mind  ; 
The  self-contained  Perfection  unconfined. 
I  only  am ;  in  might  and  mercy  one ; 
I  live  in  all  things,  and  am  closed  in  none. 
I  only  shall  be ;  when  the  worlds  have  done, 
My  bomidless  Being  will  be  but  begim. 


[294] 


CHAPTER  VI 

COLLATERAL   STUDIES   IN   WORLD    LITERATURE 

IN  the  Introduction  to  this  work,  on  page  52,  an  at- 
tempt has  been  made  to  offer  a  chart  for  the  Literary 
Pedigree  of  the  Enghsh-speaking  peoples,  that  might 
serve,  so  to  speak,  as  a  map  of  World  Literature  on  the 
English  projection.  If  the  reader  will  cast  his  eye  on  this 
chart,  and  compare  it  with  the  content  of  the  five  pre- 
ceding chapters,  he  will  see  that  what  the  chart  connects 
with  the  three  main  factors  of  our  literature  has  been 
largely  covered  by  what  we  have  called  the  five  Literary 
Bibles.  One  of  them  gives  the  Hebraic  factor  in  its 
completeness ;  a  second  is  a  less  complete  representation 
of  Hellenic  literature.  The  other  three  bibles  belong 
to  stages  where  the  third  factor  of  Romance  has  come 
into  play.  Shakespeare  represents  romantic  material 
touched  by  Hellenic  influence;  in  Milton's  work  we 
have  a  perfect  balancing  of  Hellenic  and  Hebraic  ; 
Dante  gives  us  mediae valism  in  its  wholeness.  The 
fifth  of  our  literary  bibles  presents  what  is  a  mediaeval 
germ  undergoing  successive  modifications  under  in- 
fluences which  have  extended  from  the  establishment 
of  romance  to  the  present  time.  But  if  we  survey  our 
literary  map  apart  from  the  three  main  factors  in  our 
pedigree,  the  other  civilizations  represented  seem  to 

[295] 


COLLATERAL  WORLD  LITERATURE 

have  no  connection  with  the  important  works  we  have 
called  literary  bibles,  except  indeed  a  very  indirect  con- 
nection in  the  fact  that  most  of  them  have  —  as  the 
dotted  lines  in  the  chart  indicate  —  sent  out  streams  of 
influence  towards  the  great  literary  complex  of  mediseval- 
ism  and  romance.  The  present  chapter  will  supplement 
those  that  have  preceded,  by  considering  elements  of  our 
literature  that  have  been  contributed  by  civilizations 
holding  to  ourselves  not  direct  but  collateral  relation. 

Here,  however,  a  distinction  must  be  emphasized 
which  belongs  to  this  work  as  a  whole.  This  is  not  in 
any  way  a  treatise  on  Universal  Literature.  Such  uni- 
versal literature  would  have  to  deal  with  the  civiliza- 
tions represented  in  our  map  each  separately,  and  give 
adequate  account  of  its  literary  achievement.  I  do  not 
wish  to  underestimate  the  study  of  Universal  Litera- 
ture in  itself ;  but  I  do  say  that,  when  the  question  is  of 
culture  and  education,  we  need  to  be  on  our  guard. 
Universal  Literature,  if  treated  on  a  small  scale,  can 
hardly  be  other  than  mere  information.  Now,  in  cul- 
tural studies  few  things  are  more  barren  than  literary 
facts  and  information;  few  things  have  done  more  to 
depress  literature  in  the  circle  of  studies  than  the  text- 
books often  offered,  which  are  made  up  of  names  of 
authors,  notices  of  their  careers,  lists  of  their  works, 
with  one  or  two  of  these  works  briefly  described 
and  estimated.  The  last  seems  a  particular  aggra- 
vation :  of  what  possible  use  can  it  be  to  a  much- 
suffering  student  to  know^  that  such  and  such  a 
book,  which  he  is  never  to  read,  made  a  good  or  bad 
impression  on  such  and  such  an  author,  whom  he  does 

[296] 


THE  KORAN 

not  know  ?  It  is  of  course  different  with  the  treatment 
of  Universal  Literature  on  a  larger  scale,  where  a  whole 
volume  can  be  assigned  to  each  literature,  with  the  con- 
nectedness of  a  specialist's  review ;  works  of  this  kind 
are  indispensable  for  the  study  of  history  and  the  larger 
study  of  literature.^  But  the  purpose  of  the  present 
work  is  entirely  different  from  this.  We  are  concerned, 
not  with  the  totality  of  literature,  but  with  its  unity; 
and  our  fundamental  position  is  that,  at  all  events  in  cul- 
tural studies,  this  unity  of  literature  must  be  found  by 
the  modifying  influence  of  perspective  and  a  given  point 
of  view.  We  have  in  this  work  no  responsibility  for  the 
literary  output  of  particular  peoples.  We  are  concerned 
with  our  own  literature :  the  our  is  that  of  the  English- 
speaking  peoples,  and  the  our  own  is  to  be  estimated, 
not  on  the  narrow  basis  of  native  production,  or  even 
expression  in  the  English  tongue.  Whatever  of  univer- 
sal literature,  coming  from  whatever  source,  has  been 
appropriated  by  our  English  civilization,  and  made  a 
part  of  our  English  culture,  that  is  to  us  World  Litera- 
ture. This  chapter,  then,  deals  with  the  contributions 
of  collateral  civilizations  to  our  world  classics. 


It  has  been  remarked  previously  that  among  the 
Semitic  civilizations  the  Hebrew  was  not  the  first  to  lead. 
Yet  Babylonian,  Assyrian,  Egyptian  literatures,  how- 

*  I  may  instance  as  typical  of  such  treatment  the  series  Literatures 
of  the  World  edited  by  Gosse  (Appleton)  and  the  series  Periods  of 
European  Literature  edited  by  Professor  Saintsbury  (Scribner). 

[297] 


COLLATERAL  WORLD  LITERATURE 

ever  interesting  for  other  reasons,  enter  into  our  world 
literature  only  indirectly ;  whatever  was  best  in  these 
civilizations  was  absorbed  by  the  Hebrew,  and  by  its 
vitalizing  power  diffused  through  the  world.  It  is  other- 
wise with  Arabic  :  this  has  played  a  very  individual  part 
in  history,  and  one  which  has  closely  touched  ourselves. 
A  world  religion  of  Arabic  origin  was  the  rival  through 
the  Middle  Ages  of  Christianity ;  as  Latin  was  the  lit- 
erary tongue  of  mediaeval  Europe,  so  Arabic  was  the 
organ  of  expression  to  Indian,  Greek,  and  all  other 
peoples  who  made  up  Islam.  And  between  Christian 
and  Saracenic  civilizations  there  was  continual  inter- 
action. Besides  being  one  of  the  contributory  elements 
of  mediaevalism,  Arabic  literature  has  given  us  two  of 
our  world  classics  :  these  are  —  and  the  conjunction  is 
curious — the  Koran  and  The  Arabian  Nights  Entertain- 
ments. 

The  Koran  is  of  course  the  Bible  of  the  millions  who 
make  the  Mohammedan  world.  Unlike  our  Bible, 
which  is  a  miscellaneous  literature,  the  Koran  consists 
only  of  revelations  made  to  Mahomet  himself.  Its 
superficial  appearance  is  very  peculiar.  The  revelations 
were  written  down  for  preservation  at  haphazard  during 
the  prophet's  lifetime,  and  brought  into  a  collection  only 
after  his  death.  The  basis  of  order  in  this  collection 
was  the  singular  basis  of  length  :  the  brief  oracles  of  the 
early  career  of  Mahomet  come  last,  the  long  surahs, 
marking  the  time  when  he  is  accepted  for  lawgiver  as 
well  as  prophet,  are  at  the  beginning.  Thus  the  Koran 
is  the  one  book  in  the  world  which  has  to  be  read  back- 
wards. 

[298] 


THE  KORAN 

Of  the  earlier  oracles  let  us  take  first  one  of  the  very 
briefest,  that  entitled  Of  the  Smiting} 

In  the  name  of  the  merciful  and  compassionate  God. 

The  smiting ! 

What  is  the  smiting  ? 

And  what  shall  make  thee  know  what  the  smiting  is  ? 

The  day  when  men  shall  be  like  scattered  moths ;  and  the  mountains 

shall  be  like  flocks  of  carded  wool ! 
And  as  for  him  whose  balance  is  heavy,  he  shall  be  in  a  well-pleasing 

hfe. 
But  as  for  him  whose  balance  is  light,  his  dwelling  shall  be  the 

pit  of  hell. 
And  who  shall  make  thee  know  what  it  is  ?  —  a  burning  fire ! 

Add  to  this  one  somewhat  more   extended,  yet  still 
early. 

In  the  name  of  the  merciful  and  compassionate  God. 

Has  there  come  to  thee  the  story  of  the  overwhelming  ? 

Faces  on  that  day  shall  be  humble,  labouring,  toiling,  —  shall  broil 
upon  a  burning  fire;  shall  be  given  to  drink  from  a  boiling 
spring  !  no  food  shall  they  have  save  from  the  foul  thorn,  which 
shall  not  fatten  nor  avail  against  hunger  ! 

Faces  on  that  day  shall  be  comfortable,  content  with  their  past  en- 
deavours, —  in  a  lofty  garden  wherein  they  shall  hear  no  foolish 
word;  wherein  is  a  flowing  fountain;  wherein  are  couches 
raised  on  high,  and  goblets  set  down,  and  cushions  arranged, 
and  carpets  spread ! 

Do  they  not  look  then  at  the  camel  how  she  is  created  ? 

And  at  the  heaven  how  it  is  reared  ? 

And  at  the  mountains  how  they  are  set  up  ? 

And  at  the  earth  how  it  is  spread  out  ? 

*  The  quotations  are  from  Professor  Palmer's  translation  (some- 
times slightly  altered). 

1299] 


COLLATERAL  WORLD  LITERATURE 

But  remind  :  thou  art  only  one  to  remind ;  thou  art  not  in  author- 
ity over  them ;  except  such  as  turns  his  back  and  misbeUeves, 
for  him  will  God  torment  with  the  greatest  torment. 

Verily,  unto  us  is  their  return,  and,  verily,  for  us  is  their  account ! 

We  notice  the  brevity  of  these,  the  exclamatory  dis- 
connected sentences,  the  preoccupation  with  the  one 
topic  of  the  judgment  to  come.  To  the  Oriental  mind 
incoherence  is  the  sign  of  prophecy,  as  to  the  early 
Greek  madness  was  inspiration.  Moreover,  in  this 
the  Mecca  stage  of  his  life  Mahomet  is  occupied  with 
the  sanctions  of  the  new  religion  rather  than  its  con- 
tent;  he  is  ''one  to  remind,"  not  yet  endowed  with 
the  authority  that  will  make  him  the  source  of  doctrine 
and  law.  It  is  otherwise  with  the  Medina  prophecies. 
These  are  long,  and  full  of  positive  matter ;  in  addition 
to  descriptions  of  heaven  and  hell  we  now  find  inspired 
rulings  and  laws,  declarations  of  the  unity  of  God, 
assertions  of  Mahomet's  apostolic  position,  recognition 
of  other  apostles,  especially  Moses  and  Jesus,  legends 
and  references  to  the  history  of  Israel.  Thus  the 
surah  which  stands  first  (after  the  introductory  prayer) 
covers  forty-four  octavo  pages ;  besides  warnings  and 
promises  it  includes  legends  of  Adam  and  of  the  history 
of  Israel ;  detailed  regulations  —  like  the  ordinances 
of  Mosaic  law  —  on  fasting,  on  alms,  on  pilgrimages, 
on  the  use  of  wine,  on  women,  on  oaths,  on  family 
life,  on  usury  and  debt.  But  the  incoherence  of 
prophecy  is  maintained  by  the  total  absence  of  order 
or  plan ;  the  different  topics  succeed  one  another  with 
an  indiscriminateness  which  breathes  the  spirit  of 
spontaneity.    And  this  gives  opportunity  for  the  sudden 

[300] 


THE  KORAN 

outbursts  of  exalted  thought,  which  are  a  distinguish- 
ing feature  of  the  Koran.     Thus,  in  this  second  surah : — 

God'is  is  the  east  and  the  west,  and  wherever  ye  turn  there  is 
God's  face. 

Righteousness  is  not  that  ye  turn  your  faces  towards  the  east  or 
the  west,  but  righteousness  is,  one  who  believes  in  God,  and  the  last 
day,  and  the  angels,  and  the  Book,  and  the  prophets,  and  who  gives 
wealth  for  His  love  to  kindred,  and  orphans,  and  the  poor,  and  the 
son  of  the  road,  and  beggars,  and  those  in  captivity;  and  who  is 
steadfast  in  prayer,  and  gives  alms ;  and  those  who  are  sure  of  their 
covenant  when  they  make  a  covenant ;  and  the  patient  in  poverty, 
and  distress,  and  in  time  of  violence :  these  are  they  who  are  true, 
and  these  are  those  who  fear. 

Or  there  is  the  "verse  of  the  throne,"  often  found 
inscribed  in  mosques  :  — 

God,  there  is  no  god  but  He,  the  living,  the  self-subsistent. 
Slumber  takes  Him  not,  nor  sleep.  His  is  what  is  in  the  heavens  and 
what  is  in  the  earth.  Who  is  it  that  intercedes  with  Him  save  by  His 
permission  ?  He  knows  what  is  before  them  and  what  behind  them, 
and  they  comprehend  not  aught  of  His  knowledge  but  of  what  He 
pleases.  His  throne  extends  over  the  heavens  and  the  earth,  and 
it  tires  Him  not  to  guard  them  both,  for  He  is  high  and  grand. 

We  may  add  the  behever's  prayer,  with  which  this 
surah  concludes :  — 

We  hear  and  obey.  Thy  pardon,  0  Lord  !  for  to  Thee  our  journey 
tends.  God  will  not  require  of  the  soul  save  its  capacity.  It  shall 
have  what  it  has  earned,  and  it  shall  owe  what  has  been  earned  from 
it.  Lord,  catch  us  not  up,  if  we  forget  or  make  mistake ;  Lord,  load 
us  not  with  a  burden,  as  Thou  hast  loaded  those  who  were  before 
us.  Lord,  make  us  not  to  carry  what  we  have  not  strength  for,  but 
forgive  us,  and  pardon  us,  and  have  mercy  on  us.  Thou  art  our 
Sovereign,  then  help  us  against  the  people  who  do  not  believe ! 

1301] 


COLKITERAL  WORLD  LITERATURE 

In  literary  form,  the  Koran  presents  some  features 
of  interest.  The  original  is  prose,  running  in  lengths 
that  end  in  common  rhymes :  these  rhj^mes  however 
appear  to  be  a  linguistic  rather  than  a  literary  pecul- 
iarity; they  are  bound  up  with  the  nature  of  Arabic 
roots,  and  will  not  admit  of  translation.  Besides  this 
there  is  obviously  the  rhythm  of  parallelism,  as  in  the 
Hebrew  Bible;  but  the  parallelism  is  not  carried  to 
the  extent  that  admits  of  systematization,  it  is  only 
such  sentence  structure  as  belongs  to  oratory  in  all 
languages.  Occasionally  we  have  more  defined 
rhythmic  forms.  Perhaps  the  most  pronounced  case 
is  in  the  fifty-fifth  surah,  which  is  an  example  of  the 
running  refrain.  This  is  a  very  early  poetic  form :  the 
great  example  of  it  in  the  Bible  is  the  hundred  and 
thirty-sixth  psalm,  which  is  clearly  a  song  of  the  wilder- 
ness. It  is  characteristic  of  this  form,  that  not  only 
does  the  refrain  persist  —  like  a  basso  ostinato  in  music 
—  but  it  delights  to  interrupt  the  grammatical  struc- 
ture of  the  sentences.     Thus  in  the  psalm  we  have :  — 

To  him  which  smote  great  kings, 

{For  his  mercy  endureth  for  ever) 
And  slew  famous  kings : 

(For  his  mercy  endureth  for  ever) 
Sihon  king  of  the  Amorites, 

(For  his  mercy  endureth  for  ever) 
And  Og  king  of  Bashan ; 

(For  his  mercy  endureth  for  ever) 
And  gave  their  land  for  an  heritage, 

(For  his  mercy  endureth  for  ever) 
Even  an  heritage  unto  Israel  his  servant. 

(For  his  mercy  endureth  for  ever. ) 
[302] 


THE  KORAN 

This  is  markedly  the  case  with  the  example  in  the 
Koran.  The  siirah  as  a  whole  is  an  appeal  to  men  and 
ginns  —  ginns  are  the  genii  of  the  Arabian  Nights  — 
men  created  out  of  clay,  and  spirits  out  of  fire ;  these 
are  ye  twain  of  the  refrain.  The  bounties  of  crea- 
tion are  recited,  and  the  surah  proceeds :  — 

O  assembly  of  ginns  and  mankind  !  if  ye  are  able  to  pass  through 
the  confines  of  heaven  and  earth  then  pass  through  them !  — 
ye  cannot  pass  through  save  by  authority ! 

{Then  which  of  your  Lord's  bounties  will  ye  twain  deny?) 
There  shall  be  sent  against  you  a  flash  of  fire,  and  molten  copper, 
and  ye  shall  not  be  helped  ! 

{Then  which  of  your  Lord's  bounties  will  ye  twain  deny?) 
And  when  the  heaven  is  rent  asunder  and  become  rosy  red,  melting 
lilce  grease, 

{Then  which  of  your  Lord's  bounties  will  ye  twain  deny?) 
On  that  day  neither  man  nor  ginn  shall  be  asked  about  his  crime : 

{Then  which  of  your  Lord's  bounties  will  ye  twain  deny?) 
The  sinners  shall  be  known  by  their  marks,  and  shall  be  seized 
by  the  forelock  and  the  feet ! 

{Then  which  of  your  Lord's  bounties  will  ye  twain  deny?) 
"  This  is  hell,  which  the  sinners  did  call  a  lie  !   they  shall  circulate 
between  it  and  water  boiling  quite  ! " 

{Then  which  of  your  Lord's  bounties  will  ye  twain  deny?) 
But  for  him  who  fears  the  station  of  his  Lord  are  gardens  twain : 

{Then  which  of  your  Lord's  bounties  will  ye  twain  deny?) 
Both  furnished  with  branching  trees  ; 

{Then  which  of  your  Lord's  bounties  will  ye  twain  deny?) 
In  each  are  flowing  springs ; 

{Then  which  of  your  Lord's  bounties  will  ye  twain  deny?) 
In  each  are  of  every  fruit  two  kinds. 

{Then  which  of  your  Lord's  bounties  will  ye  twain  deny?) 
Reclining  on  beds  the  linings  of  which  are  of  brocade,  and  the  fruit 
of  the  two  gardens  within  reach  to  cull, 

{Then  which  of  your  Lord's  bounties  will  ye  twain  deny?) 
[303] 


COLLATERAL  WORLD  LITERATURE 

Therein  arc  maids  of  modest  glances  whom  none  has  loved  before, 

{Then  which  of  your  Lord's  bounties  will  ye  twain  deny?) 
As  though  they  were  rubies  and  pearls. 

(Then  which  of  your  Lord's  bounties  will  ye  twain  deny?) 
Is  the  reward  of  goodness  aught  but  goodness  ? 

{TJien  which  of  your  Lord's  bounties  will  ye  twain  deny?) 

With  similar  provisions  of  bliss  for  inferior  inhabitants 
of  Paradise  the  surah  continues,  the  refrain  persisting 
to  the  close.  It  is  interesting  to  find  so  accentuated  a 
rhythmic  device  in  a  work  of  which  the  main  note  is 
spontaneity;  and  this  throws  light  upon  the  claim  of 
the  running  refrain  to  be  a  transition  stage  between  the 
fixed  folk  song  and  individualized  compositions.. 

Unquestionably  the  Arabian  Nights  Entertainments 
is  a  world  classic.  It  takes  us  in  a  moment  into  the 
very  heart  of  the  Middle  Ages.  This  era  conceives  of 
only  two  regions,  our  own  and  the  enemy's,  Christ- 
ianity and  Islam.  The  enmity  is  consistent  with 
the  respect  born  of  conflict ;  nor  is  it  all  conflict,  for 
Saracen  life  has  penetrated  far  into  Europe,  and  brought 
its  poetry,  science,  and  art.  Now,  the  Arabian  Nights 
gives  the  English  reader  medisevalism  seen  from  the 
farther  side.  It  is  an  intellectual  holiday  tour  to  be 
separated  from  our  own  responsible  life,  and  immersed 
for  a  time  in  bright  Orientalism.  Instead  of  London 
or  Paris  or  Rome  we  have  Bagdad,  Damascus, 
Bussorah,  Harran,  Cairo,  Tripoli ;  we  turn  from 
Persia  to  China,  India,  Africa,  and  generally  are  aware 
of  an  empire  extending  from  farthest  east  to  farthest 
west.  Instead  of  feudal  struggles  we  realize  autocracy, 
as  absolute  as  a  child's  idea  of  power.     If  a  sultan 

[304] 


THE  ARABIAN  NIGHTS 

hears  from  a  fair  lady  that  she  was  jostled  in  the  street 
by  a  passing  porter,  he  simply  orders  all  the  porters 
of  the  city  to  be  hanged,  that  the  unknown  offender 
may  not  escape;  the  massacre  is  averted  only  by  the 
lady's  consciousness  that  she  has  been  fibbing.  The 
cares  of  government  by  day  are  refreshed  by  the  nightly 
stroll  in  disguise  to  see  what  the  subjects  think  of  it; 
if  there  is  criticism,  the  critic  may  be  awakened  from 
a  drugged  sleep  to  find  himself  autocrat  for  a  day  amid 
bending  courtiers,  and  to  experiment  with  his  notions 
of  government.  Slavery  is  in  evidence,  but  presents  it- 
self chiefly  as  an  era  in  an  adventurous  life.  The  lower 
orders  —  tailors,  bakers  of  pastry,  especially  porters 
— can  always  be  had  to  give  realism  to  scenes.  But 
business  on  a  larger  scale  seems  chiefly  to  be  travel- 
ling in  sociable  caravans  through  distant  countries, 
with  consciousness  of  immensely  valuable  baggage,  and 
good  prospect,  where  the  retail  trade  begins,  of  love 
intrigues^ with  veiled  customers.  If  there  is  travel  on  a 
larger  scale  than  this,  it  seems  to  be  through  regions  of 
Bacon's  ''unnatural  natural  philosophy,"  or  Pliny's 
book  of  nature  prodigies.  Beauties  of  nature  are  lav- 
ished on  all  scenes,  and  woman  is  more  beautiful  still. 
Wealth  in  money  or  precious  jewellery  seems  boundless, 
for  there  is  the  bank  of  magic  to  draw  upon ;  and  this 
is  not  the  ponderous  magic  of  the  Faust  Story,  inviting 
explanation,  but  seems  simply  the  less  usual  side  of  na- 
ture. If  man  has  been  created  out  of  stolid  earth,  with 
the  spirit  of  God  breathed  into  him,  why  not  genii  out 
of  volatile  and  overmastering  fire,  with  no  divine  ele- 
ment to  restrain  them  ?    The  whole  moral  atmosphere  is 

X  [  305  ] 


COLLATERAL  WORLD  LITERATURE 

as  neutral  as  that  of  a  dream ;  and  the  only  providence 
is  the  eternal  fitness  of  things  to  make  story. 

The  title  Arabian  Nights  only  reminds  us  that  Arabic 
was  the  Latin  of  the  Moslem  world :  into  this  medium 
stories  which  had  migrated  from  Indian,  Persian, 
Turkish,  Hebrew,  Greek  literature  must  translate 
themselves  if  they  are  to  gain  a  hearing.  Thus  this 
book,  more  perhaps  than  any  other,  brings  us  in  touch 
with  floating  literature;  with  the  processes  of  evolu- 
tion which  built  up  romance;  with  the  Middle  Ages 
as  a  gathering  ground  of  world  literature.  It  has  thus 
great  interest  for  the  student  of  literary  form.  What 
we  call  a  story  is  a  form  of  creative  literature,  however 
hard  it  may  be  to  define  it.  When,  however,  many 
stories  are  aggregated  together,  further  literary  forms 
are  required  as  a  basis  of  arrangement.  The  most 
conspicuous  device  is  that  of  the  frame :  the  story  used 
to  introduce  all  the  succeeding  stories,  enclosing  them 
as  a  frame  encloses  a  picture.  We  have  this  in  Euro- 
pean collections  of  stories :  Boccaccio  gives  us  for  a 
frame  the  plague  in  Florence,  and  flight  of  elegant 
ladies  and  gentlemen  to  villas  where  they  entertain 
themselves  with  telling  the  tales  that  are  to  make  up 
the  Decameron;  Chaucer's  frame  story  is  a  pilgrimage 
to  Canterbury,  the  pilgrims  telling  stories  by  the  waj^ 
The  frame  story  of  the  Arabian  Nights  is  the  character- 
istic suggestion  of  a  jealous  sultan,  who  marries  a  queen 
each  day  only  to  have  her  executed  on  the  morrow ; 
but  one  of  these  queens,  Scheherezade,  interferes  with 
the  regularity  of  the  arrangement  by  telling  stories 
and  stopping  at  the  interesting  parts,  so  that  the  execu- 

[  306 1 


THE  ARABIAN  NIGHTS 

tion  has  to  be  postponed  day  after  day,  until,  at  the 
end  of  a  thousand  and  one  nights,  it  is  not  worth  while. 
But  in  the  present  case  this  device  of  the  frame  story 
is,  so  to  speak,  raised  to  a  higher  power.  Not  only  do 
we  have  the  frame  story  introducing  other  stories,  but 
each  of  these  other  stories  may  be  a  frame  to  enclose 
yet  others  :  this  is  the  plot  interest  of  involution,  story 
within  story,  and  story  within  story,  like  Chinese 
boxes,  to  any  degree  of  remoteness  from  the  starting- 
point.  Involution  in  this  sense  belongs  to  other 
Oriental  collections,  such  as  the  Fables  of  Bidpai;  but 
in  the  Arabian  Nights  the  involution  is  perfectly  car- 
ried through ;  all  the  dropped  threads  are  regularly  re- 
covered, and  the  whole  brought  into  symmetry. 

It  is  worth  while  to  illustrate.  Among  the  stories 
Scheherezade  tells  is  that  of  the  Hunchback,  in  whose 
death  were  apparently  implicated  an  orthodox  Tailor, 
a  Jewish  Physician,  a  Mussulman  Purveyor,  and  a 
Christian  Merchant.  When  the  four,  with  the  body 
of  the  Hunchback,  are  brought  before  the  sultan,  he 
exclaims  that  this  is  the  most  extraordinary  tangle  of 
affairs  he  has  ever  known.  The  Christian  Merchant 
asks  permission  to  relate  a  still  more  extraordinary 
story;  but  what  he  offers  is  so  inadequate  that  the 
sultan  is  about  to  have  all  four  prisoners  hanged ;  only 
that  the  Mussulman  Purveyor  claims  his  privilege  of 
trying  to  produce  a  more  extraordinary  story  than 
that  of  the  Hunchback,  and  so  in  turn  the  Jewish 
Physician  and  the  Tailor.  Each  of  the  tales  so  told 
introduces  yet  another  tale :  the  first,  that  of  a  Hand- 
less  Man ;  the  second,  that  of  a  Thumbless  Man ;  the 

[307] 


CX)LLATERAL  WORLD  LITERATURE 

Phj'sic'ian's,  that  of  a  Mutilated  Patient.  But  the 
Tailor's  story  acts  as  frame  for  two  others ;  for  he  tells 
how  a  Lame  Guest  at  a  wedding  left  rather  than  sit 
down  with  another  guest  he  denounced  as  a  Chatter- 
ing Barber :  if  the  Lame  Guest  has  been  allowed  to  tell 
his  story,  so  in  equity  must  the  Barber  tell  his.  This 
Barber  relates  an  adventure  amply  proving  that  he  is 
the  most  silent  of  men ;  yet  he  admits  that  he  comes  of  a 
family  of  chatterers,  and  —  before  he  can  be  stopped  — 
gives  in  succession  the  story  of  his  first  brother  (who 
was  a  hunchback),  of  his  second  brother  (who  was 
toothless),  of  his  third  brother  (who  was  blind),  of  his 
fom'th  brother  (who  was  one-eyed),  of  his  fifth  brother 
(who  had  no  ears),  and  of  his  sixth  brother  (who  was 
hare-lipped).  Only  when  these  six  subordinate  stories 
have  been  reeled  off  does  the  Barber  bring  his  own 
story  to  a  conclusion.  But  this  Barber's  story,  it  will 
be  remembered,  was  an  item  in  the  Tailor's  story ;  and 
the  Tailor's  story  can  now  be  completed.  We  are 
back  now  in  the  Story  of  the  Hunchback;  and  the 
sultan  who  has  listened  to  all  this  involution  of  narra- 
tives picks  out  —  as  the  reader  will  do  likewise  —  the 
Chattering  Barber  as  the  most  striking  point.  It 
seems  that  the  said  Barber  is  in  this  very  city  of  the 
sultan,  and  can  be  sent  for.  Instead  of  answering  to 
the  description  of  chatterer,  the  Barber  insists  on  hav- 
ing the  surrounding  circumstances  explained  to  him. 
All  the  tangle  of  the  Hunchback's  death  is  related  to 
him.  Then  comes  a  surprise  :  by  his  art  —  for  barbers 
are  also  surgeons  —  he  has  perceived  something  strange 
in  the  body  of  the  Hunchback;   he  draws  out  a  fish- 

[308] 


THE  ARABIAN  NIGHTS 


INVOLUTION  IN  STORY  FORM 

Frame  Story  of  Scheherezade 

Story  of  the  Hunchback,  and  the  Four  implicated  in  his  death 
Story  (1)   Of  the  Christian  Merchant  —  containing 

Story  of  the  Handless  Man 
Story  (2)  Of  the  Mussuhnan  Purveyor  —  containing 

Story  of  the  Thumbless  Man 
Story  (3)  of  the  Jewish  Physician  —  containing 

Story  of  the  Mutilated  Patient 
Story  (4)  of  the  Tailor  —  containing 
Story  of  the  Lame  Guest 
Story  of  the  Chattering  Barber 

Of  the  Barber's  first  brother  (hunchback) 
Of  the  Barber's  second  brother  (toothless) 
Of  the  Barber's  third  brother  (blind) 
Of  the  Barber's  fourth  brother  (one-eyed) 
Of  the  Barber's  fifth  brother  (no  ears) 
Of  the  Barber's  sixth  brother  (hare-lipped) 
Story  of  the  Barber  concluded 
Story  of  the  Tailor  concluded 
Story  of  the  Hunchback  concluded 
Frame  Story  resumed 


[309] 


COLLATERAL  WORLD  LITERATURE 

bone  from  the  throat,  and  the  Hunchback  comes  to 
Ufe  again.  This  Story  of  the  Hunchback  thus  brought 
to  a  happy  conclusion,  we  get  back  to  the  Frame  Story 
of  Scheherezade.  When  it  is  set  out  in  graphic  form, 
as  on  the  preceding  page,  we  can  reahze  this  symmetrical 
involution  of  story  within  story  to  the  fifth  degree, 
constructive  framework  to  what,  on  the  surface,  seems 
only  a  farrago  of  drolleries.  Such  Oriental  tours  de 
force  of  plot  construction  are  part  of  the  forces  prepar- 
ing the  way  for  the  romantic  drama  of  Shakespeare, 
that  blends  together  its  many  stories,  not  with  mechan- 
ical parallelism,  but  with  delicate  artistic  and  moral 
suggestiveness.^ 

II 

The  dominant  position  of  Indian  amongst  the  Aryan 
civilizations  might  lead  us  to  expect  that  from  this 
source  there  would  come  large  contributions  to  our 
world  literature.  Yet  such  is  not  the  case.  The 
primacy  of  Indian  civilization  is  mainly  one  of  time. 
If  we  are  studying  the  question  of  literary  origins, 
then  the  influence  of  Vedic  Hymns  and  Vedantic  phil- 
osophy upon  Hellenic  poetry  and  philosophy  is  a  sub- 
ject of  great  importance.  But  it  is  only  thus  indirectly, 
passed  through  the  alembic  of  Greek  creative  origin- 
ality, that  the  Indian  element  has  entered  largely 
into  world  literature.  So,  again,  to  the  student 
of  literary  phenomena  Indian  wisdom,  Indian  drama 
and    lyric,    especially    the    enormous    epics    of    this 

'  This  conception  of  Shakespearean  plot  is  the  basis  of  mj'  Shake- 
speare as  a  Dramatic  Thinker;  compare  pages  5-7,  and  Appendix. 

[310] 


MEDIATING  INTERPRETATION 

literature,  will  be  full  of  interest  and  suggestive- 
ness.  But  this  Oriental  poetry,  with  all  its  literary 
values,  does  not  readily  assimilate  with  western 
taste.  Or  at  least,  the  entrance  of  Indian  into 
world  literature  is  a  question  of  the  future  rather 
than  of  the  past  and  present.  This  brings  me  to  a 
point  of  considerable  interest  to  our  whole  subject, 
something  I  will  express  by  the  term  '^  mediating 
interpretation."  In  a  sense,  every  translator  is  an 
interpreter  between  one  literature  and  another.  But 
the  current  idea  of  translation  has  come  down  to  us 
from  the  departmental  study  of  literature ;  and  this 
has  naturally  emphasized  exact  correspondence  with 
the  original  as  the  first  virtue  of  translation.  From 
our  point  of  view,  departure  from  the  original  is  an 
offence  only  when  it  is  unintentional.  We  have  a  right 
to  claim  that  our  interpreters  shall  understand  what 
they  are  interpreting  to  its  smallest  detail.  But  when 
the  translator  designedly  departs  from  his  model,  and 
uses  fresh  creative  power  to  effect  a  desirable  modifica- 
tion, then  we  have  a  mediation  between  one  literature 
and  another  which  is  more  than  translation.  Such 
mediating  interpretation  has  been  applied  with  splen- 
did success  to  Indian  poetry  by  Sir  Edwin  Arnold  ;  his 
versions  —  one  of  which  will  be  noticed  in  a  later 
chapter  ^  —  retain  the  essence  of  the  Indian  poem,  yet 
with  creative  modification,  both  negative  and  positive, 
such  as  enables  the  foreign  matter  to  appeal  to  the 
western  taste.  And  mediating  interpretation  may  go 
further  than  this.     I  instance  such  a  work  as  Southey's 

1  See  page  378. 
[311] 


COLLATERAL  WORLD  LITERATURE 

Curse  of  Kehama,  in  my  judgment  a  poem  of  high  rank. 
There  is  no  Indian  original  corresponding  to  this :  it 
gives  us  the  mediating  interpretation  appUed,  in  a 
purely  original  poem,  to  the  whole  body  of  Indian 
mythology.  Only  when  by  modifying  influences  of 
this  kind  the  Oriental  matter  has  been  brought  within 
the  range  of  western  appreciation,  will  Indian  enter 
largely  into  our  world  literature. 

Ill 

It  is  otherwise  with  Persian  literature :  from  this 
quarter  comes  what  at  the  present  moment  is  perhaps 
the  most  universally  recognized  world  classic  —  the 
Rubaiyat  of  Omar  Khayyam.  Once  more  we  have 
mediating  interpretation ;  the  vogue  of  the  poem  is 
perhaps  as  much  due  to  Fitzgerald  as  to  Omar.  And 
he  has  used  his  license  of  creative  modification  freely ; 
the  most  startling  stanza  of  the  English  poem  is  appar- 
ently founded  on  a  misreading,  but  in  this  case  a  mis- 
reading that  proves  worth  while. 

The  poem,  on  the  face  of  it,  is  a  glorification  of  wine. 
Of  course,  the  heresy  of  mystic  interpretation  has  inter- 
vened, and  asked  us  to  consider  the  wine  as  some'.hing 
symbolic  of  the  spiritual.  Such  interpretation  is  impos- 
sible :  the  "vvane  of  the  Persian  poem  is  simply  the  juice 
of  the  grape  which  all  the  world  understands  by  that 
word.  And  yet  two  notes  of  wine  poetry  are  con- 
spicuously absent.  There  is  no  suggestion  of  excess, 
of  the  intoxicated  abandon  that  inspires  bacchanahan 
verse,  and  to  a  less  extent  anacreontics.     Nor  have  we 

[312  1 


OMAR  KHAYYAM 

the  spirit  of  the  connoisseur :  there  is  no  discriminat- 
ing appreciation  of  fruity  or  full-bodied,  only  plain  wine 
from  beginning  to  end.  Wine  here  is  a  means  to  an 
end.  And  the  end  is  the  accentuation  of  the  conscious- 
ness that  wine  brings;  the  stimulus  to  the  mood  of 
brooding ;  the  quickened  sense  of  the  present  moment 
as  the  one  unassailable  certainty  of  life.  Thus,  para- 
doxical as  it  may  seem,  the  full  spirit  of  this  wine  poem 
can  be  maintained  apart  from  wine.  The  soothing 
sense  of  an  exalted  present  from  which  to  brood  on  past 
and  future,  which  one  man  gets  from  wine,  another 
man  will  get  from  tobacco,  another  from  the  right 
blend  of  tea,  or  a  cup  of  Turkish  coffee ;  a  man  of  yet 
another  temperament  will  obtain  it  from  a  country 
ramble  in  company  with  his  favorite  dog.  But,  how- 
ever produced,  this  outlook  on  life  from  a  moment  of 
elation  is  the  spirit  of  the  whole  poem,  and  that  which 
gives  it  its  power  and  universal  hold.  For  such  realiza- 
tion of  a  conscious  present  is  the  very  starting-point  of 
all  psychology  and  of  the  philosophy  of  existence ;  we 
have  here  the  cogito  ergo  sum  raised  to  the  poetic  plane ; 
the  brooding  emphasis  on  present  existence  is  the 
pou  sto  of  certainty,  from  which  whatever  of  hfe  is 
phenomenal  or  matter  of  inference  can  be  meditatively 
exalted  or  depressed. 

The  form  of  the  poem  is  indicated  by  the  title 
Ruhaiyat,  which  signifies  "epigrams."  The  epigrams 
have  a  fixed  structure :  each  is  a  four-lined  stanza  in 
which  the  third  line,  by  missing  the  common  rhyme  of 
the  other  three,  gives  to  the  flow  of  the  stanza  a  lift 
like  the  crest  of  a  wave.     The  epigrams  (with  scarcely 

[313] 


COLLATERAL  WORLD  LITERATURE 

an  exception)  are  complete  in  themselves ;  yet  the 
thought  can  be  carried  on  from  one  to  another.  The 
effect  of  the  whole  is  thus  something  like  that  of  the 
sonnet  sequence;  though  the  epigram  is  so  much 
briefer  than  a  sonnet,  yet  it  has  the  same  character  of 
a  mould  into  which  thought  must  be  fitted,  and  the 
relation  of  epigram  to  epigram  is  just  that  of  sonnets 
in  a  sequence.  Another  point  of  poetic  form  to  be 
noted  is  the  concealed  imagery  of  Day,  which  runs 
through  the  poem.  The  opening  stanza  coincides  with 
the  opening  of  Day ;  of  New  Year's  Day,  which  to  the 
Persian  is  the  beginning  of  Spring;  it  coincides  also 
with,  the  opening  of  what  is  called  the  ''Tavern." 
But  the  connotation  of  the  English  word  breaks  the 
effect ;  the  Persian  Tavern  is  a  Paradise  —  this  word  is 
Persian  —  with  suggestions  of  shady  boughs  and  roses 
and  Spring  flowers,  and  of  a  ''cypress-slender  minister 
of  wine"  going  her  happy  rounds  among  guests  "star- 
scattered  on  the  grass."  Towards  the  conclusion  the 
suggestion  of  evening  rises  out  of  the  underlying  imagery 
into  the  thought  of  the  poem;  then  moonlight  closes 
the  Day  and  brings  the  time  for  departure.  And  among 
other  beauties  of  poetic  detail  we  have  the  translation 
of  coromon  thoughts  into  vinous  language.  Departed 
friends  are  those  who  — 

Have  drunk  their  Cup  a  Round  or  two  before, 
And  one  by  one  crept  silently  to  rest. 

Heaven  is  that  inverted  Bowl  they  call  the  Sky ;  when 
men  reach  their  end  Heaven  inverts  them  to  Earth 
like  an  empty  Cup ;    the  fleeting  generations  are  the 

[314] 


OMAR  KHAYYAM 

Millions  of  Bubbles  poured  from  his  Bowl  by  the 
Eternal  Saki ;  Death  comes  as  the  Angel  of  the  darker 
Drink,  whose  Cup  invites  the  Soul  forth  to  the  lips  to 
quaff.  And  the  trite  image  of  the  potter  and  his  clay 
is  expanded  at  one  point  to  a  parable,  in  which  all 
men's  varying  views  of  God  and  judgment  are  moulded 
in  terms  of  pottery :  amongst  them,  the  vessel  of  un- 
gainly make  is  heard  asking,  "What!  did  the  hand 
then  of  the  Potter  shake?"  while  a  profound  "Sufi 
pipkin"  gets  to  the  depths  of  all  controversy  with  his 
question,  "Who  is  the  Potter,  pray,  and  who  the  Pot  ?" 
In  beautiful  monotony  of  strongly  flowing  verse,  the 
mood  of  conscious  brooding,  with  its  unassailable 
certainty  of  the  present  moment,  passes  in  review  the 
inequalities  and  fluctuations  of  life.  Iram  and  Jamshyd 
are  gone,  and  the  sweet  singer  David's  lips  are  locked, 
but  wine  and  nightingales  and  roses  are  for  ever.  The 
life  of  purpose,  that  must  look  to  past  and  future  :  it  is 
so  much  credit  offered  instead  of  the  cash  of  the  pres- 
ent ;  the  great  purpose,  no  more  than  snow  lying  on 
the  dusty  face  of  the  desert  before  it  melts ;  the  life 
itself,  a  battered  Caravanserai  opening  and  closing  its 
doors  of  Night  and  Day  for  a  traveller's  destined  hour. 
The  meaning  of  life?  A  mass  of  uncertainties,  con- 
fronting the  one  certainty  of  the  Present.  Eager 
frequenters  of  Doctor  and  Saint  evermore  come  out 
by  the  same  door  where  they  went  in  :  their  sole  knowl- 
edge the  two  words  /  came  and  /  go,  with  all  the  why 
and  whence  and  whither  insolently  withheld.  Tangled 
discussion  of  subjective  and  objective,  ego  and  non-ego, 
is  so  much  talk  of  Me  and  Thee,  with  the  talking  Thee 

1315] 


COLLATERAL  WORLD  LITERATURE 

and  Me  about  to  perish.  Or  does  pantheism  or  imma- 
nence offer  a  Thee  in  Me  working  behind  the  Veil  ? 
There  comes  a  Voice  as  from  Without :  The  Me  within 
Thee  Blind. 

But  the  /  go  has  brought  another  motive  into  the 
poem,  and  this  is  another  certainty  :  Death.  But  to 
the  exalted  consciousness  Death  presents  itself  as 
another  exalted  consciousness  —  the  Soul  able  to  fling 
the  Dust  aside  and  ride  naked  on  the  Air  of  Heaven : 
beside  this,  Life  looks  a  paltry  thing,  a  tent  for  one 
day's  rest  on  the  journey,  an  oasis  of  Being  for  the 
phantom  Caravan  before  it  reaches  the  Nothing  from 
which  it  set  out.  The  thought  sinks  back  to  the  im- 
possibility of  a  meaning  for  life.  Why  spend  the 
spangle  of  Existence  on  the  great  Secret,  when  a  hair 
may  divide  the  False  and  the  True,  when  the  Existence 
itself  may  be  a  drama  which  One  behind  the  fold  of 
Darkness  Himself  contrives,  enacts,   beholds  ? 

But  the  motive  surges  up  of  God,  of  a  Judgment. 
To  the  stimulated  sense  of  the  present  moment  the 
question  is  raised.  Who  but  God  created  the  Wine? 
Where  is  the  certainty  of  Judgment,  when  of  the 
myriads  who  have  passed  through  the  door  of  Dark- 
ness none  have  returned  with  tidings  of  the  road? 
The  revelations  of  Devout  and  Learned  are  stories 
which  the  Prophets  awoke  from  sleep  to  tell  their  com- 
rades and  returned  to  sleep.  What  if  men  are  but 
magic  Shadow-shapes  from  the  Lantern  held  by  the 
Master  of  the  Show ;  but  helpless  Pieces  of  the  Game 
he  plays.  What  if  the  message  from  the  Invisible  be 
that  ''I  Myself  am  Heaven  and  Hell":  — 

[316] 


OMAR  KHAYYAM 

Heav'n  but  the  Vision  of  fulfilled  Desire, 
And  Hell  the  Shadow  froni  a  Soul  on  fire, 

Cast  on  the  Darkness  into  which  Ourselves, 
So  late  emerged  from,  shall  so  soon  expire. 

But,  apart  from  all  judgment  to  come,  the  brooding 
consciousness  must  confront  another  thought  —  of 
moral  consciousness,  and  the  sense  of  sin.  Yet,  what 
becomes  of  sin,  if  all  is  predestined  from  first  to  last? 
Man  has  been  no  party  to  his  own  existence :  the 
Creator  alone  must  be  responsible  for  the  possibility 
of  sin. 

What !  from  his  helpless  Creature  be  repaid 
Pure  Gold  for  what  he  lent  him  dross-allay'd  — 

Sue  for  a  Debt  he  never  did  contract. 
And  cannot  answer  —  Oh  the  sorry  trade  ! 

And  it  is  here  we  get  the  impressive  thought  created 
by  the  translator  out  of  a  shght  misreading.^ 

Oh  Thou,  who  Man  of  baser  Earth  didst  make. 
And  ev'n  with  Paradise  devise  the  Snake : 

For  all  the  Sin  wherewith  the  Face  of  Man 
Is  blacken'd  —  Man's  forgiveness  give  —  and  take  ! 

But  a  subtle  sense  of  Day  passing  into  Evening  comes 
to  throw  the  brooding  consciousness  into  a  reminiscent 
attitude.  A  life  lost  for  Wine  !  Yet  has  it  not  been 
worth  while  ? 

I  wonder  often  what  the  Vintners  buy 
One  half  so  precious  as  the  stuff  they  sell. 

*  See  Professor  Cowell's  comment  quoted  in  Aldis  Wright's 
edition  of  Fitzgerald's  Letters  and  Literary  Remains,  Volume  III, 
page  386. 

[317] 


COLLATERAL  WORLD  LITERATURE 

The  sense  of  closing  Day  presses,  and  the  conscious 
present  becomes  shot  through  with  regrets,  and  with 
longings :  — 

Yet  Ah,  that  Spring  should  vanish  wnth  the  Rose ! 
That  Youth's  sweet-scented  manuscript  should  close. 

Would  but  the  Desert  of  the  Fountain  yield 
One  glimpse  —  if  dimly,   yet  indeed,   revealed. 
To  which  the  fainting  traveller  might  spring, 
As  springs  the  trampled  herbage  of  the  field ! 

The  rising  Moon  closes  Day :  the  hour  of  strong  con- 
sciousness must  pass  with  the  other  hours.  The 
Moon  will  be  there  to  shed  her  beams  on  brooders  of 
the  future. 

And  w^hen  like  her,  oh  Saki,  you  shall  pass 
Among  the  Guests  Star-scatter'd  on  the  Grass, 

And  in  your  joyous  errand  reach  the  spot 
Where  I  made  One  —  turn  down  an  empty  Glass ! 


IV 

When  we  approach  the  subject  of  the  Celtic  civiliza- 
tion, the  points  which  first  suggest  themselves  are  such 
as  do  not  really  belong  to  the  present  discussion.  It 
is  for  the  study  of  literary  origins  to  deal  wdth  the 
question  of  the  influence  exerted  by  the  Celtic  element 
on  our  EngUsh  genius  and  in  European  literature. 
Again,  we  are  just  now  at  the  beginning  of  a  great 
Celtic  revival,  by  which  both  taste  and  scholarship  are 
being  poured  upon  the  remains  of  Gaelic  literature, 
stored  in  manuscripts  or  httle-read  books;    we  look 

[318] 


OSSIAN 

forward  to  being  able,  at  no  distant  date,  to  under- 
stand and  appreciate  Celtic  literature  as  a  whole  — 
Welsh,  Irish,  Scotch ;  to  estimate  fairly  the  Celts  as 
one  of  the  Aryan  famihes  of  peoples,  and  to  realize  the 
literary  leadership  of  Ireland  in  its  own  age.  Mean- 
while, the  one  contribution  of  Celtic  to  world  literature 
as  it  stands  is  the  Ossian  of  Macpherson.  This  work 
has  in  recent  times  fallen  into  neglect ;  there  has  been 
reaction  from  the  burst  of  admiration  it  once  aroused, 
and  it  has  sunk  down  into  the  mists  of  controversy 
amid  which  it  first  emerged. 

This  was  a  literary  controversy  in  which  more  than 
the  usual  amount  of  nonsense  was  wTitten;  and  in 
which,  it  may  be  said,  the  real  issues  were  misunder- 
stood by  both  sides.  Macpherson  had  collected  from 
the  lips  of  aged  Gaels  poetry  which  had  come  down  to 
them  by  long  tradition ;  he  freely  pieced  together  and 
otherwise  worked  up  the  materials  so  obtained,  and  pub- 
lished them,  not  in  the  original,  but  in  translation.  He 
did  his  work  at  a  most  unfortunate  moment.  The  Eng- 
land of  Dr.  Samuel  Johnson's  age  had  the  most  inveter- 
ate prejudice  against  everything  Scotch ;  at  that  time, 
and  for  long  afterwards,  prejudice  was  a  leading  factor 
in  literary  criticism.  It  was  moreover  an  era  of  the 
most  highly  artificial  poetry,  and  an  age  incapable  of 
understanding  any  type  of  poetry  but  its  own.  Ac- 
cordingly, Macpherson's  Ossian  was  received  with  a 
howl  of  disdain  :  it  was  pronounced  an  impudent  forg- 
ery ;  the  human  memory,  it  was  declared,  could  not 
possibly  retain  such  an  amount  unassisted  by  writing ; 
the  age  supposed  to  have  produced  the  poems  was  an 

[319] 


COLLATERAL  WORLD  LITERATURE 

age  of  barbarism ;  the  details  of  the  poems  were  pal- 
pable plagiarisms.  It  was  in  vain  that  Dr.  Hugh  Blair, 
as  Edinburgh  Professor  of  Belles-Lettres,  refuted  these 
charges ;  in  vain  that  a  committee  of  the  Highland  So- 
ciety of  Scotland,  appointed  for  the  purpose,  made  elab- 
orate inquiries,  and  discovered  a  great  body  of  original 
Gaelic  poetry,  just  such  as  that  from  which  Macpherson 
professed  to  draw  his  materials ;  in  particular,  in  refer- 
ence to  what  was  a  great  point  of  the  controversy,  a 
passage  alleged  to  be  an  obvious  imitation  of  Milton's 
Address  to  the  Sun,  the  Gaelic  original  was  discovered 
and  certified  to  have  been  taken  down  orally  from  an  old 
man  thirty  years  previously.  All  this  side  of  the  con- 
troversy rested  solely  upon  the  critical  limitations  of  the 
period,  which  understood  nothing  but  personal  author- 
ship, and  thought  of  Homer  as  a  man  who  had 
''written"  the  Iliad;  what  we  now  understand  of  float- 
ing literature,  and  the  processes  by  which  traditional 
material  is  worked  up  by  some  redactor  into  the  poems 
of  written  literature,  makes  the  work  of  Macpherson 
easily  intelligible.  On  the  other  hand,  his  haughty  si- 
lence assisted  the  difficulty  ;  his  work  in  free  handling 
of  his  materials  to  give  them  poetic  coherence  is  per- 
fectly justifiable,  but  he  equally  owed  literary  history 
the  duty  of  scrupulously  preserving  the  Gaelic  originals, 
fragmentary  though  they  might  be,  as  materials  for 
linguistic  and  literary  science  to  work  upon.  The  lit- 
erary taste  of  Europe  however  pierced  through  the 
mist  of  controversy,  and  seized  upon  the  content  of  the 
book  as  an  important  addition  to  the  world  of  literature, 
the  poetry  of  a  highly  original  people  ;  a  literary  ruin,  it 

[320] 


OSSIAN 

might  be,  but  a  ruin  that  was  an  artistic  revelation.  I 
desire  no  better  statement  of  the  whole  case  than  one 
which  comes  from  Matthew  Arnold.  — 

The  Celts,  with  their  vehement  reaction  against  the  despotism 
of  fact,  with  their  sensuous  nature,  their  manifold  striving,  their 
adverse  destiny,  their  immense  calamities,  the  Celts  are  the  prime 
authors  of  this  vein  of  piercing  regret  and  passion,  —  of  this  Ti- 
tanism  in  poetry.  A  famous  book,  Macpherson's  Ossian,  carried 
in  the  last  century  this  vein  like  a  flood  of  lava  through  Europe. 
I  am  not  going  to  criticise  Macpherson's  Ossian  here.  Make  the 
part  of  what  is  forged,  modern,  tawdry,  spurious,  in  the  book,  as 
large  as  you  please ;  strip  Scotland,  if  you  like,  of  every  feather  of 
borrowed  pliunes  which  on  the  strength  of  Macpherson's  Ossian 
she  may  have  stolen  from  that  vetus  et  major  Scotia,  the  true  home 
of  the  Ossianic  poetry,  Ireland;  I  make  no  objection.  But  there 
will  still  be  left  in  the  book  a  residue  with  the  very  soul  of  the  Celtic 
genius  in  it,  and  which  has  the  proud  distinction  of  having  brought 
this  soul  of  the  Celtic  genius  into  contact  with  the  genius  of  the 
nations  of  modern  Europe,  and  enriched  all  our  poetry  by  it. 
Woody  Morven  and  echoing  Sora,  and  Selma  with  its  silent 
halls  !  —  we  all  owe  them  a  debt  of  gratitude,  and  when  we  are  un- 
just enough  to  forget  it,  may  the  Muse  forget  us  ! 

The  great  use  of  Macpherson's  book  is  to  read  and 
re-read  it  until  the  reader  is  in  tune  with  the  atmosphere 
of  the  poetry.  We  have  here  an  elementary  civiUzation 
with  the  minimum  of  the  artificial ;  it  seems  immersed 
in  the  gloom  and  power  of  external  nature  till  it  has  be- 
come a  part  of  it ;  this,  with  what  Matthew  Arnold  calls 
the  Titanic  spirit,  makes  the  distinctiveness  of  Ossianic 
poetry.  It  contrasts  with  Greek  and  Norse  epic  in  the 
absence  of  artistic  elaboration  and  poetic  architecture. 
Fingal  is  the  most  considerable  of  the  Ossianic  epics. 
Here  the  plot  is  as  simple  as  plot  can  be :  war  against 
T  [321] 


COLLATERAL  WORLD  LITERATURE 

invaders  of  Ireland,  with  incessant  defeat,  until  the  su- 
preme hero  Fingal  arrives  in  his  ships,  and  defeat 
changes  to  victory,  with  reconciliation  and  rejoicings 
of  peace.  Structural  skill  appears  in  the  way  in  which 
episodes  are  worked  into  the  stages  of  this  action,  giving 
scope,  not  only  for  variety  in  war,  but  also  for  other 
motives  —  love,  hunting,  hospitality,  visitations  from 
the  supernatural,  the  songs  of  bards.  As  the  hosts  are 
first  mustered  two  notable  chieftains  are  missing  :  this 
gives  opportunity  for  the  episode  of  Morna,  the  sad  love 
story  which  unites  the  two  heroes  and  their  common 
love  in  a  tragic  death.  The  direct  narrative  resumes, 
and  we  have  the  clash  of  war. 

Like  autumn's  dark  storms  pouring  from  two  echoing  hills,  to- 
wards each  other  approached  the  heroes.  Like  two  deep  streams 
from  high  rocks  meeting,  mixing  roaring  on  the  plain ;  loud,  rough, 
and  dark  in  battle  meet  Lochlin  and  Inis-fail.  Chief  mixes  his 
strokes  with  chief,  and  man  with  man :  steel,  clanging,  sounds  on 
steel.  Helmets  are  cleft  on  high.  Blood  bursts  and  smokes  around. 
Strings  murmur  on  the  polished  yews.  Darts  rush  along  the  sky. 
Spears  fall  like  the  circles  of  light,  which  gild  the  face  of  night :  as 
the  noise  of  the  troubled  ocean,  when  roll  the  waves  on  high.  As 
the  last  peal  of  thunder  in  heaven,  such  is  the  din  of  war  !  Though 
Cormac's  hundred  bards  were  there  to  give  the  fight  to  song ;  feeble 
was  the  voice  of  a  hundred  bards  to  send  the  deaths  to  future  times  ! 
...  As  roll  a  thousand  waves  to  the  rocks,  so  Swaran's  host 
came  on.  As  meets  a  rock  a  thousand  waves,  so  Erin  met  Swaran 
of  spears.  Death  raises  all  his  voices  around,  and  mixes  with  the 
sounds  of  shields.  Each  hero  is  a  pillar  of  darkness ;  the  sword  a 
beam  of  fire  in  his  hand.  The  field  echoes  from  wing  to  wing,  as 
a  hundred  hammers,  that  rise,  by  turns,  on  the  red  son  of  the 
furnace.  Who  are  these  on  Lena's  heath,  these  so  gloomy  and  dark  ? 
Who  are  these  like  two  clouds,  and  their  swords  like  lightning  above 

[322] 


OSSIAN 

them  ?  The  little  hills  are  troubled  around ;  the  rocks  tremble  with 
all  their  moss.  Who  is  it  but  ocean's  son  and  the  car-borne  chief 
of  Erin  ?  Many  are  the  anxious  eyes  of  their  friends,  as  they  see 
them  dim  on  the  heath.  But  night  conceals  the  chiefs  in  clouds, 
and  ends  the  dreadful  fight ! 

Night  gives  opportunity  for  episodes  of  the  super- 
natural. 

The  rest  lay  in  the  heath  of  the  deer,  and  slept  beneath  the 
dusky  wind.  The  ghosts  of  the  lately  dead  were  near,  and  swam 
on  the  gloomy  clouds ;  and  far  distant,  in  the  dark  silence  of  Lena, 
the  feeble  voices  of  death  were  faintly  heard.  Connal  .  .  . 
beheld,  in  his  rest,  a  dark  red  stream  of  fire  rushing  down  from 
the  hill.  Crugal  sat  upon  the  beam,  a  chief  who  fell  in  fight.  He 
fell  by  the  hand  of  Swaran,  striving  in  the  battle  of  heroes.  His 
face  is  like  the  beam  of  the  setting  moon.  His  robes  are  of  the  clouds 
of  the  hill.  His  eyes  are  two  decaying  flames.  Dark  is  the  wound 
of  his  breast.  .  .  .  Faintly  he  raised  his  feeble  voice,  like  the  gale  of 
the  reedy  Lego.  .  .  .     The  stars  dim-twinkled  through  his  form. 

It  is  these  nocturnal  pauses  in  the  fight  that  bring  the 
variety  of  episodes,  heroes  and  bards  exchanging  stories. 
They  think  of  the  great  Fingal  hurrying  to  their  rescue, 
and  we  hear  an  episode  of  his  early  love.  How  he  had 
accepted  the  treacherous  hospitality  of  Selma's  king, 
and  the  snare  was  being  spread  for  his  life. 

He  praised  the  daughter  of  Lochlin :  and  Morven's  high  de- 
scended chief.  The  daughter  of  Lochlin  overheard.  She  left  the 
hall  of  her  secret  sigh !  She  came  in  all  her  beauty,  like  the  moon 
from  the  cloud  of  the  east.  Loveliness  was  round  her  as  light.  Her 
steps  were  the  music  of  songs.  She  saw  the  youth  and  loved  him. 
He  was  the  stolen  sigh  of  her  soul. 

She  gives  secret  warning  of  the  secret  plot,  and  Fingal 
falls  on  the  conspirators. 

[323] 


COLLATERAL  WORLD  LITERATURE 

The  sons  of  death  fell  by  his  hand :  and  Gormal  echoed  around  I 
Before  the  halls  of  Starno  the  sons  of  the  chase  convened.  The 
king's  dark  brows  were  like  clouds ;  his  eyes  like  meteors  of  night. 
"  Bring  hither,"  he  said,  "  Agandecca  to  her  lovely  king  of  Morven  ! 
His  hand  is  stained  with  the  blood  of  my  people ;  her  words  have  not 
been  in  vain !"  She  came  with  the  red  eye  of  tears.  She  came 
with  looselj^-flowing  locks.  Her  white  breast  heaved  with  broken 
sighs,  like  the  foam  of  the  streamy  Lubar.  Starno  pierced  her  side 
with  steel.  She  fell,  like  a  wreath  of  snow,  which  slides  from  the 
rocks  of  Ronan;  when  the  woods  are  still,  and  echo  deepens  in 
the  vale !  Then  Fingal  eyed  his  valiant  chiefs,  his  valiant  chiefs 
took  arms !  The  gloom  of  battle  roared :  Lochlin  fled  or  died. 
Pale  in  his  bounding  ship  he  closed  the  maid  of  the  softest  soul. 
Her  tomb  ascends  on  Ardven ;  the  sea  roars  around  her  narrow 
dwelUng. 

An  episode  of  a  warrior  coming  by  night,  wounded  as  he 
is,  to  give  warning  of  danger,  contains  a  passage  which 
brings  home  to  us  how  deeply  this  hfe  of  Celtic  poetry 
is  sunk  into  the  heart  of  nature. 

"  Why  bursts  that  broken  sigh,  from  the  breast  of  him  who  never 
feared  before  ?  "  "  And  never,  Connal,  will  he  fear,  chief  of  the 
pointed  steel !  My  soul  brightens  in  danger :  in  the  noise  of  arms. 
I  am  of  the  race  of  battle.  My  fathers  never  feared.  Cormar  was 
the  first  of  my  race.  He  sported  through  the  storms  of  waves.  His 
black  skiff  bounded  on  ocean ;  he  travelled  on  the  wings  of  the  wind. 
A  spirit  once  embroiled  the  night.  Seas  swell  and  rocks  resound. 
Winds  drive  along  the  clouds.  The  lightning  flies  on  wings  of  fire. 
He  feared,  and  came  to  land,  then  blushed  that  he  feared  at  all.  He 
rushed  again  among  the  waves,  to  find  the  son  of  the  wind.  Three 
youths  guide  the  bounding  bark :  he  stood  with  sword  unsheathed. 
When  the  low-hung  vapor  passed,  he  took  it  by  the  curling  head. 
He  searched  its  dark  womb  with  his  steel.  The  son  of  the  wind 
forsook  the  air.  The  moon  and  stars  returned !  Such  was  the 
boldness  of  my  race." 

[324] 


NORSE  EPIC  OF  SIGURD 

The  Homer  of  all  this  epic  poetry  is  Ossian ;  he  is  at 
once  hero  and  bard  ;  one  of  the  sons  of  the  mighty  Fin- 
gal,  he  has  his  share  of  the  deeds  he  is  to  make  immortal. 
But  the  traditional  conception  of  the  rhapsodist  obtains 
here  also  :  in  old  age  he  sings  of  strenuous  life  belonging 
to  a  generation  forever  passed. 

Many  a  voice  and  many  a  harp  in  tuneful  sounds  arose.  Of 
Fingal  noble  deeds  they  sung ;  of  Fingal's  noble  race ;  and  some- 
times, on  the  lovely  sound,  was  heard  the  name  of  Ossian.  I  often 
fought,  and  often  won,  in  battles  of  the  spear.  But  blind,  and 
tearful,  and  forlorn,  I  walk  with  little  men !  O  Fingal,  with  thy 
race  of  war  I  now  behold  thee  not.  The  wild  roes  feed  on  the  green 
tomb  of  the  mighty  King  of  Morven !  .  .  .  I  am  sad,  forlorn, 
and  blind :  no  more  the  companion  of  heroes !  .  ..  •  I  have  seen  the 
tombs  of  all  my  friends  ! 


From  the  literary  point  of  view  the  Norse  is  among 
the  greatest  of  Aryan  civilizations.  A  vast  body  of  po- 
etic material  is  stored  in  the  Icelandic  sagas.  Great  in  its 
native  dress,  this  has  become  still  greater  by  finding  an 
Homeric  interpreter  in  William  Morris ;  Sigurd  the  Vol- 
sung  represents  perhaps  the  highest  point  to  which  the 
epic  poetry  of  the  world  has  attained.  There  is  nothing 
that  can  be  compared  with  it  except  the  Iliad  and 
Odyssey.  And  what  thus  stand  out  as  the  masterpieces 
of  world  epic  have  the  added  interest  of  sharp  contrast ; 
as  far  as  the  south-east  is  from  the  north-west  so  great 
is  the  distance  between  the  fresh  simplicity  of  the 
world's  youth,  voiced  by  the  Greeks,  and  the  Norse  pres- 
entation of  its  late  maturity,  with  its  complex  motives 
and  profound  moral  depth.     It  would  be  violating  all 

[325] 


COLLATERAL  WORLD   LITERATURE 

the  proportions  of  the  matter  entering  into  the  present 
chapter  to  attempt  any  adequate  account  of  Morris's 
poem :  I  can  only  indicate  some  of  its  broader  features.^ 
Any  epic  poem  on  a  large  scale  must  reflect  the  phil- 
osophy underlying  the  life  it  presents.  For  this  the 
matter  of  the  Norse  poem  offers  specially  wide  scope : 
to  get  a  Greek  parallel  we  should  have  to  put  together 
the  widely  different  poetry  of  Hesiod  and  of  Homer. 
The  northern  conception  of  life  and  the  universe  seems 
to  turn  upon  two  main  ideas,  Fate  and  Evolution. 
Destiny  deeply  overshadows  the  world  of  Morris's  poem. 
Yet  it  is  a  Destiny  strangely  harmonious  with  the  con- 
ception of  human  Will. 

Know  thou,  most  mighty  of  men,  that  the  Norns  shall  order  all, 

And  yet  ^\dthout  thine  helping  shall  no  whit  of  their  will  befall  ; 

Be  wise !   'tis  a  marvel  of  words,  and  a  mock  for  the  fool  and  the 

blind; 
But  I  s£lw  it  writ  in  the  heavens,  and  its  fashioning  there  did  I  find : 
And  the  night  of  the  Norns  and  their  slumber,  and  the  tide  when 

the  world  runs  back. 
And  the  way  of  the  sun  is  tangled,  it  is  wrought  of  the  dastard's  lack. 
But  the  day  when  the  fair  earth  blossoms,  and  the  sun  is  bright 

above. 
Of  the  daring  deeds  is  it  fashioned  and  the  eager  hearts  of  love. 

WHien  we  put  together  the  action  of  the  poem  with  the 
back  glances  into  the  infinite  past  afforded  by  the  stories 
of  Regin  and  Brynhild  and  the  songs  of  Gunnar,  we 
seem  to  catch  a  complete  course  of  world  evolution  from 
first  to  last.     We  have  first  unconscious  or  blind  evolu- 

^  Fuller  treatment  will  be  found  in  my  Syllabus  of  Study  in  the 
Poetry  and  Fiction  of  William  Morris.     (See  below,  page  490.) 

[326] 


NORSE  EPIC  OF  SIGURD 

tion :  chaos  slowly  settling  into  order.  Then  the  Gods 
appear,  and  give  direction  or  purpose  to  the  evolution, 
fashioning  or  sundering  things  into  types  and  antitheses. 
Fixed  semblances  of  things  take  the  place  of  wavering 
or  variable  semblances ;  thus  the  marvels  of  witchcraft 
and  metamorphosis,  which  play  so  important  a  part  in 
the  action,  are  merely  reversions  to  an  earlier  stage  of 
evolution,  to  the  ''craft  of  the  kings  of  aforetime,"  or 
"the  craft  that  prevaileth  o'er  semblance."  With  this 
influence  of  the  Gods  passion  takes  the  place  of  the  older 
''careless  life";  desire  comes  in,  and  therefore  grief; 
evil  and  good  are  blended  — 

The  good  and  the  evil  wedded  and  begat  the  best  and  the  worst. 

More  than  this,  the  Gods  have  subjected  themselves 
to  the  evolution  they  have  created,  infusing  principles, 
and  then  without  intervention  awaiting  the  issue  of 
these  upon  their  creation  and  upon  themselves.  Thus 
the  era  in  which  events  are  happening  —  what  in 
modern  phrase  we  should  call  Time,  as  distinguished 
from  Eternity  —  presents  itself  as  a  Day  of  the  Gods, 
passing  through  its  stages  of  morning  and  noon  to  the 
"Dusk  of  the  Gods":  when  all  will  culminate  in  the 
Judgment,  unmixed  Evil  confronting  unmixed  Good, 
and  the  issue  of  this  final  struggle  is  unknown.  Now, 
man's  place  in  this  universe  is  that  of  an  ally  of  the  Gods 
for  this  final  struggle.  Hence  the  supreme  moral  con- 
ception for  man  is  the  warrior  virtue,  fitting  for  the  final 
conflict ;  and  the  highest  dignity  for  woman  is  to  be  a 
"chooser  of  the  slain  " — that  is,  gatherer  for  Odin  of  the 
fit  warriors  whom  Fate  has  removed  from  this  life.  The 

[327] 


COLLATERAL  WORLD  LITERATURE 

outer  sign  of  this  virtue  is  glad,  decisive  action,  of  which 
the  "laugh"  of  Sigurd  is  the  spontaneous  expression. 
Repentance  has  no  place  in  this  system  of  fate.  Death 
is  the  grand  disentanglement  of  moral  comphcations, 
transplanting  to  the  higher  struggle  beyond  the  grave. 
And  if  fate  means  an  unchangeable  future,  its  counter- 
part is  the  irrevocable  past :  death  ends  the  power  of 
action,  but  "the  tale  abides  to  tell." 

Yea,  and  thy  deeds  thou  shalt  know,  and  great  shall  thy  gladness  be ; 

As  a  picture  all  of  gold  thy  life-days  shalt  thou  see. 

And  know  that  thou  too  wert  a  God  to  abide  through  the  hurry 

and  haste ; 
A  God  in  the  golden  hall,  a  God  on  the  rain-swept  waste, 
A  God  in  the  battle  triumphant,  a  God  on  the  heap  of  the  slain : 
And  thine  hope  shaU  arise  and  blossom,  and  thy  love  shall  be  quick- 
ened again : 
And  then  shalt  thou  see  before  thee  the  face  of  all  earthly  ill  ; 
Thou  shalt  drink  of  the  cup  of  awakening  that  thine  hand  hath 
holpen  to  fill. 

In  poetic  art  there  is  an  interesting  point  of  contrast 
between  Greek  and  Norse.  A  notable  feature  of  Ho- 
meric poetry  is  the  formal  simile ;  and  we  have  already 
seen  ^  how  beauties  of  nature  in  large  amount  are,  by  this 
device  of  comparison,  drawn  within  the  body  of  the 
poem.  In  Sigurd  formal  similes  are  few ;  there  is  the 
same  wealth  of  nature  beauties,  but  they  are  worked 
into  the  incidents  themselves  and  made  a  part  of  them. 
This  Dramatic  Background  of  Nature  is  a  leading  feature 
of  the  poem.  Reiterated  touches  of  detail  keep  before 
the  reader  the  natural  surroundings  of   an  incident, 

^  Above,  pages  132-4. 
[328] 


NORSE  EPIC  OF  SIGURD 

especially  changes  of  light,  and  these  are  made  to  move 
mystically  in  harmony  with  the  movement  of  the  inci- 
dent itself.  Thus  the  central  incident,  the  awakening 
of  Brynhild,  is  worked  out  with  great  elaborateness ;  as 
we  follow  through  the  long-drawn  sense  of  expectation 
to  the  climax,  we  find  the  gradual  approach  of  daylight 
indicated  by  continuous  touches  and  fine  gradations  of 
growing  light,  until  the  sudden  blaze  of  the  risen  sun 
flashes  on  the  kiss  that  begins  Sigurd's  day  of  love.  On 
the  contrary,  the  approach  of  Sigurd  to  the  Burg  of  the 
Niblungs  is  mystically  accompanied  with  suggestions 
of  day  giving  place  to  night,  of  cloud-threatenings  and 
angry  heavens.  The  long-drawn  suspense  of  waiting 
for  the  murder  of  Sigurd  is  punctuated  by  stages  in  the 
passing  of  night  —  waning  moonlight,  fading  torches, 
the  glimmer  growing  on  the  pavement,  the  dawn  spread 
wide  and  gray :  broad  day  falls  on  his  visage  as  he  lies 
dead.  Hardly  a  single  incident  of  the  whole  poem  is 
without  some  such  background  of  external  nature. 

But  of  course  the  main  interest  in  an  epic  poem  must 
be  the  action  itself,  of  which  the  formulation  is  what 
we  call  the  plot.  For  the  ultimate  basis  of  his  plot  Mor- 
ris has  gone  down  to  the  very  foundation,  perhaps  of  all 
mythology,  certainly  of  Norse  poetry,  the  conflict  of 
light  and  darkness.  This  takes  the  form  of  Niblung 
and  Volsung,  the  Cloudy  People  and  the  People  of 
Brightness.  The  Niblung  People  have  their  seat  in  the 
cloudy  drift :  — 

A  long  way  off  before  him  come  up  the  mountains  grey ; 
Grey,  huge  beyond  all  telling,  and  the  host  of  the  heaped  clouds, 
The  black  and  the  white  together,  on  that  rock-wall's  coping  crowds ; 

1329] 


COLLATERAL  WORLD  LITERATURE 

But  whiles  are  rents  athwart  them,  and  the  hot  sun  pierceth  through, 
And  there  glow  the  angry  cloud-caves  'gainst  the  everlasting  blue, 
And  the  changeless  snow  amidst  it ;  but  down  from  that  cloudy  head 
The  scars  of  fires  that  have  been  show  grim  and  dusky-red ; 
And  lower  yet  are  the  hollows  striped  down  by  the  scanty  green, 
And  lingering  flecks  of  the  cloud-host  are  tangled  there-between. 
White,  pillowy,  lit  by  the  sun,  unchanged  by  the  drift  of  the  wind. 

In  such  scenery  the  Niblung  Palace  stands,  as  if  itself 
were  a  thing  of  nature. 

One  house  in  the  midst  is  unhidden  and  high  up  o'er  the  wall  it 

goes; 
Aloft  in  the  wind  of  the  mountains  its  golden  roof-ridge  glows, 
And  down  mid  its  buttressed  feet  is  the  wind's  voice  never  still; 
And  the  day  and  the  night  pass  o'er  it  and  it  changes  to  their  will. 
And  whiles  it  is  glassy  and  dark,  and  whiles  it  is  white  and  dead, 
And  whiles  it  is  grey  as  the  sea-mead,  and  whiles  it  is  angry  red ; 
And  it  shimmers  under  the  sunshine  and  grows  black  to  the  threat  of 

the  storm. 
And  dusk  its  gold  roof  glimmers  when  the  rain-clouds  over  it  swarm, 
And  bright  in  the  first  of  the  morning  its  flame  doth  it  uphft, 
When  the  light  clouds  rend  before  it  and  along  its  furrows  drift. 

In  antithesis  to  the  Niblungs  we  have  the  "  Afterseed  of 
the  Volsungs."  The  People  of  Brightness  have  gradu- 
ally died  away ;  twice  the  whole  stock  of  Volsung  is 
represented  by  a  single  life ;  then  the  last  spark  shoots 
up  into  the  glorious  Sigurd,  who  concentrates  the  whole 
brightness  of  the  people  in  himself.  Sigurd  is  pre- 
sented as  the  supreme  excellence  of  human  nature ;  and 
certainly  beside  his  bright  all-round  perfection  other 
heroes  of  epic  poetry  seem  meagre.  But  the  material 
of  the  poem  is  well  balanced ;  and  in  those  who  are 
opposed  by  the  action  to  Sigurd — those  who,  in  stage 

[  330  ] 


NORSE  EPIC  OF  SIGURD 

phrase,  must  be  called  the  villains  of  the  piece  —  it  is 
remarkable  how  much  of  force  and  attractive  goodness 
is  to  be  found. 

There  is  Gunnar  the  great  and  fair, 
With  the  lovely  face  of  a  king  'twixt  the  night  of  his  wavy  hair ; 
And  there  is  the  wise-heart  Hogni ;  and  his  Ups  are  close  and  thin, 
And  grey  and  awful  his  eyen,  and  a  many  sights  they  win : 
And  there  is  Guttorm  the  youngest,  of  the  fierce  and  wandering 

glance, 
And  the  heart  that  never  resteth  till  the  swords  in  the  war-wind 

dance ; 
And  there  is  Gudrun  his  daughter,  and  Ught  she  stands  by  the  board, 
And  fair  are  her  arms  in  the  hall  as  the  beaker's  flood  is  poured ; 
She  comes,  and  the  earls  keep  silence ;  she  smiles,  and  men  rejoice ; 
She  speaks,  and  the  harps  unsmitten  thrill  faint  to  her  queenly  voice. 

The  poem  is  in  four  books.  In  the  architecture  of 
the  plot  it  is  the  second  and  third  books  that  make  the 
main  building,  the  first  and  fourth  are  the  wings.  It  is 
the  middle  books  that  give  us  the  clash  of  Volsung  and 
Niblung.  The  first  book  is  devoted  to  the  Rise  of  the 
Volsungs ;  that  is,  the  strange  preservation  of  the  Vol- 
sung stock  through  what  is  all  but  extinction  until  it 
culminates  in  the  glory  of  Sigurd.  The  last  book  gives 
the  Fall  of  the  Niblungs  after  their  treachery  to  Sigurd 
has  been  consummated,  their  magnificent  fight  against 
hopeless  Destiny,  till  they  are  exterminated  by  the  ven- 
geance of  their  wronged  sister.  But  the  whole  plot 
is  more  complex  than  this.  As  Sigurd,  in  the  second 
book,  moves  through  his  career  to  the  point  of  meeting 
the  Niblungs,  he  passes  through  two  adventures,  which 
draw  new  elements  into  the  story.    He  rides  through 

[331] 


COLLATERAL  WORLD  LITERATURE 

the  fire  and  awakens  Brynhild  :  the  whole  story  of  the 
Valkjo-ie  Maiden  who  has  sought  to  manipulate  Fate 
becomes  part  of  the  action.  And  he  recovers  the  gold 
treasure  of  the  waters ;  we  are  carried  back  to  pre-hu- 
man eras,  and  the  Curse  of  Andvari,  which  has  clung 
to  the  treasure  of  the  waters  through  all  time,  becomes 
the  enveloping  action  of  the  whole  plot,  the  Destiny 
that  entangles  all  its  actors. 

Such  is  the  epic  complexity  of  the  plot :  its  crisis  is 
more  like  the  crisis  of  drama.  No  more  deeply  interest- 
ing psychological  situation  has  ever  been  imagined  than 
that  which  is  brought  about  by  the  treachery  of  Grim- 
hild,  the  Niblungs'  device  to  keep  the  supreme  greatness 
of  Sigurd  entirely  for  themselves.  Magic,  we  have  seen, 
fits  naturally  into  the  thought  of  the  poem ;  by  magic 
device  the  love  of  Brynhild  is  smitten  out  of  the  heart 
of  Sigurd  as  coipipletely  as  if  a  portion  of  his  brain  had 
been  removed  by  surgical  operation.  In  what  follows 
he  is  as  irresponsible  as  a  madman :  the  difference  is, 
that  the  force  of  the  magic  must  pass  in  time,  and  Sigurd 
is  left  in  full  consciousness  of  the  moral  ruin  in  which, 
with  his  own  hand,  he  has  plunged  himself  and  all  he 
loves.  And  the  ruin  must  go  on,  unmitigated,  until 
death  comes  to  bring  relief ;  meanwhile,  Sigurd's  whole 
soul  is  strung  up  to  self-restraint  from  the  emptiness 
of  revenge,  and  to  patient  living  for  the  good  of  the 
people. 

Lo,  Sigurd  fair  on  the  high-seat  by  the  white-armed  Gudrun's  side, 
In  the  midst  of  the  Cloudy  People,  in  the  dwelling  of  their  pride  ! 
His  face  is  exceeding  glorious  and  awful  to  behold ; 
For  of  all  his  sorrow  he  kaoweth  and  his  hope  smit  dead  and  cold : 

[332] 


THE  KALEVALA 

The  will  of  the  Norns  is  accomplished,  and,  lo,  they  wend  on  their 

ways. 
And  leave  the  mighty  Sigurd  to  deal  with  the  latter  days : 
The  Gods  look  down  from  heaven,  and  the  lonely  King  they  see, 
And  sorrow  over  his  sorrow,  and  rejoice  in  his  majesty. 
For  the  will  of  the  Norns  is  accomplished,  and  outworn  is  Grim- 

hild's  spell. 
And  nought  now  shall  blind  or  help  him,  and  the  tale  shall  be  to  tell. 
He  knows  of  the  net  of  the  days,  and  the  deeds  that  the  Gods  have 

bid. 
And  no  whit  of  the  sorrow  that  shall  be  from  his  wakened  soul  is 

hid: 
And  his  glory  his  heart  restraineth,  and  restraineth  the  hand  of  the 

strong 
From  the  hope  of  the  fools  of  desire  and  the  wrong  that  amendeth 

wrong.  .  .  . 
—  Lo,  such  is  the  high  Gods'  sorrow,  and  men  know  nought  thereof, 
Who  cry  out  o'er  their  undoing,  and  wail  o'er  broken  love. 

VI 

Our  chart  of  world  literature,  constructed  as  it  is 
from  the  English  point  of  view,  puts  into  a  single 
group  the  civilizations  of  the  world  outside  the  Semitic 
and  Aryan  families.  To  this  group  belong  the  civ- 
ilizations of  China  and  Japan.  To  literary  science 
the  Chinese  and  Japanese  literatures  will  always  be 
important ;  yet  it  cannot  be  said  that  any  part  of 
these  has  been  adopted  into  the  world  literature  of  the 
west.  But  from  another  of  the  extraneous  civilizations, 
the  Finnish,  has  come  a  masterpiece  of  poetry  in  the 
Kalevala.  It  is  not  a  century  since  this  poem  was  first 
brought  to  light ;  at  once  philologists  like  Jacob  Grimm 
and  Max  Miiller  welcomed  it  into  the  inner  circle  of  the 

[333] 


COLLATERAL  WORLD  LITERATURE 

world's  epics ;  the  poet  Longfellow,  by  a  mediating 
interpretation  of  a  peculiar  kind,  caught  its  inspiration, 
and  transferred  it  to  the  mythology  of  the  American 
Indians  in  his  Hiawatha.  Nothing  is  so  unanalyzable 
as  genius,  we  can  only  recognize  it  when  we  find  it ;  in 
this  case  the  poetic  genius  of  the  Finnish  people  has 
availed  to  transport  a  poem  from  the  outer  extremity  of 
the  literary  field  into  the  very  heart  of  European  litera- 
ture. But  there  is  something  more  to  be  said.  Litera- 
ture in  the  earlier  stages  of  evolution  must  in  the  gen- 
eral course  of  things  perish  ;  it  is  made  up  of  oral  poetry 
with  nothing  to  record  it,  poetry  which  will  either  cease 
to  be,  or  be  absorbed  into  literature  of  more  advanced 
stages.  But  genius  can  operate  at  any  point :  in  the 
present  case  the  genius  of  Finnish  minstrelsy  has  raised 
to  permanent  vitality  poetry  in  primitive  forms,  which 
in  other  literatures  have  passed  away  leaving  only 
accidental  traces.  Thus,  not  only  does  the  Kalevala 
touch  every  reader  with  the  spell  of  its  intrinsic  beauty, 
but  it  has  further  the  double  interest  of  putting  us  in 
touch  with  a  distant  civilization,  and  bringing  home  to 
us  poetic  forms  far  down  the  scale  of  literary  evolution. 
Perhaps  the  first  impression  which  the  action  of  this 
poem  makes  upon  the  modern  reader  is  the  absence  in 
it  of  all  reality.  Reality  is,  of  course,  in  no  way  incon- 
sistent with  abundance  of  miracle  and  marvel :  the 
Iliad  is  full  of  miraculous  incidents,  yet  it  reads  to  us 
as  real  life,  though  a  real  life  containing  elements  which 
are  absent  from  our  own.  It  is  otherwise  with  the  Fin- 
nish poem :  nothing  in  this  is  supernatural,  because 
there  is  no  basis  of  the  natural  with  which  to  make  com- 

[334] 


THE  KALEVALA 

parison.  External  nature  with  its  rocks  and  streams, 
things  of  vegetable  and  animal  life,  human  beings  and 
gods,  all  seem  the  same  thing  with  attributes  in  common. 
The  Metamorphoses  of  Ovid  is  a  poem  founded  wholly 
on  miracle,  yet  it  does  not  fail  to  give  us  real  life; 
as  we  read  we  realize  what  it  feels  like  to  change  from 
a  man  into  a  tree  or  bird.  In  the  Kalevala  the  man 
does  not  change  into  the  eagle,  he  simply  becomes  the 
eagle.  All  this  is  a  source  of  great  intellectual  interest 
in  the  poem.  We  are  accustomed  to  think  what  we 
call  reality  a  simple  thing,  to  which  creative  imagina- 
tion has  added  elements  of  the  marvellous.  The  truth 
is  of  course  the  reverse  of  this :  the  earliest  thinkings 
of  mankind  were  filled  with  highly  complex  elements 
unseparated,  and  what  we  call  reality  is  the  climax  of 
a  long  series  of  differentiations,  with  nature,  men,  and 
gods  distinguished,  mind  and  matter  divided,  each 
with  its  proper  attributes.  The  thought  of  the  Kalevala 
antedates  most  of  these  differentiations ;  we  are  re- 
minded of  the  Norse  conception  of  evolution  as  it 
appears  in  Sigurd,  and  how  it  was  only  at  a  definite 
period  that  the  varying  semblances  of  things  gave 
place  to  fixed  semblances,  each  after  its  kind.^  It  is 
one  thing  to  know  as  a  scientific  fact  that  human 
thought  has  passed  through  such  an  evolutionary  stage, 
and  to  describe  it  by  some  such  word  as  "animism." 
It  is  quite  another  thing  to  be  transported  by  force  of 
poetic  genius  into  the  very  heart  of  this  primitive 
thinking,  and  to  find  its  ideas  and  conceptions  playing 
in  rhythmic  beauty  around  us. 

1  Compare  above,  page  326. 
[335  1 


COLLATERAL  WORLD  LITERATURE 

Similarly,  in  its  poetic  form  the  Kalevala  takes  us 
back  to  an  early  stage  of  literary  evolution,  in  which 
epic  is  just  beginning  to  draw  apart  from  lyric  form. 
A  body  launched  in  space  must  move  in  one  of  two 
ways :  either  its  course  will  return  upon  itself,  and 
make  some  form  of  circle  or  ellipse,  or,  not  returning,  it 
will  make  an  endless  progression  in  parabolic  or  hyper- 
bolic curve.  There  is  a  similar  elementary  distinction 
in  poetic  form,  between  the  lyric,  that  celebrates 
things  in  rhythms  which  return  upon  themselves,  and 
the  epic,  which  indicates  a  progression  of  incidents. 
The  Kalevala  is  rightly  called  an  epic  poem :  yet  we 
feel  that  here  the  progression  of  incidents  with  difficulty 
makes  itself  felt,  as  against  the  lyric  tendency  to  empha- 
size the  separate  incidents  with  reiteration  and  rhythmic 
recurrence. 

Many  elements  of  rhythm  combine  in  this  poem. 
First,  we  have  metre :  this  is  as  simple  as  metre  can 
be ;  the  jingle  — 

Diddlediddle  diddlediddle 

exactly  represents  it.  In  the  original,  this  metre  is 
supported  by  alliteration ;  but  —  so  far  as  an  outsider 
may  judge  —  this  is  not  the  essential  aUiteration  of 
Old  Enghsh  poetry,  but  merely  an  adjunct  to  the 
metre,  like  the  alliteration  that  strengthens  Spenser's 
verse.  In  the  third  place,  we  have  the  rhythm  of 
parallelism,  as  in  Hebrew  poetry.  Consecutive  lines 
run  in  parallel  clauses;  often  whole  paragraphs  are 
parallel,  with  common  refrains ;  at  times  we  have 
wide  reaches  of  purely  parallel  lines. 

[336] 


THE  KALEVALA 

Once  before  have  ills  assailed  me,* 
Plagues  from  somewhere  have  attacked  me, 
From  the  realms  of  mighty  sorcerers, 
From  the  meadows  of  the  soothsayers, 
And  the  homes  of  evil  spirits. 
And  the  plains  where  dwell  the  wizards, 
From  the  dreary  heaths  of  Kahna, 
From  beneath  the  firm  earth's  surface, 
From  the  dwellings  of  the  dead  men. 
From  the  realms  of  the  departed, 
From  the  loose  earth  heaped  in  hillocks, 
From  the  regions  of  the  landslips, 
From  the  loose  and  gravelly  districts, 
From  the  shaking  sandy  regions, 
From  the  valleys  deeply  sunken. 
From  the  moss-grown  swampy  districts. 
From  the  marshes  all  imfrozen, 
From  the  billows  ever  tossing, 
From  the  stalls  in  Hiisi's  forest. 
From  fire  gorges  in  the  mountains. 
From  the  slopes  of  copper  mountains. 
From  their  summits  all  of  copper, 
From  the  ever-rustling  pine-trees. 
And  the  rustUng  of  the  fir-trees,  — 

The  passage  continues  to  the  extent  of  fifty  Hnes. 
Again,  this  paralleHsm  unites  naturally  with  numerical 
progressions.  Thus  as  the  conmionest  of  conventional 
expressions  we  have  — 

Thus  he  drove  one  day,  a  second, 
Drove  upon  the  third  day  likewise  — 

or  more  elaborately  — 

1  The  quotations  are  from  Mr.  Kirby's  translation :   see  below, 
page  489. 

z  [  337  I 


COLLATERAL  WORLD  LITERATURE 

Drift  for  six  years  like  a  pine-tree, 
And  for  seven  years  like  a  fir-tree, 
And  for  eight  years  like  a  tree-stump. 

Sometimes  these  numerical  amplifications  are  too 
much  for  our  perverse  modern  spirit  of  humor.  Thus 
of  the  minstrel,  weeping  at  the  pathos  of  his  own  songs  : 

From  his  eyes  there  fell  the  tear-drops, 
Others  followed  after  others, 
Tears  upon  his  cheeks  were  falUng, 
Down  upon  his  cheeks  so  handsome, 
Rolling  from  his  cheeks  so  handsome 
Down  upon  his  chin's  expansion, 
Rolling  from  his  chin's  expansion 
Down  upon  his  panting  bosom. 
Rolling  from  his  panting  bosom 
Down  upon  his  strong  knee's  surface. 
Rolling  from  his  strong  knee's  surface 
Do^-n  upon  his  feet  so  handsome, 
Rolling  from  his  feet  so  handsome 
Do'vvTi  upon  the  ground  beneath  them. 
And  five  woollen  cloaks  were  soaking, 
Likewise  six  of  gilded  girdles. 
Seven  blue  dresses  too  were  soaking, 
And  ten  overcoats  were  soaking. 

All  these  elements  of  rhythm  cooperate  in  the 
Kalevala.  But  there  is  another,  which  seems  to  pass 
beyond  rhythm,  and  enter  deeply  into  the  plot  and 
movement  of  the  poem.  A  rudimentary  type  of  plot 
is  that  which  may  be  called  the  one-two-three  form,  or 
numerical  series.  It  applies  to  all  kinds  of  poetry. 
Take  the  biblical  epigram  :  — 

There  be  three  things  which  are  too  wonderful  for  me, 
Yea,  four  which  I  know  not : 
[3381 


THE  KALEVALA 

The  way  of  an  Eagle  in  the  air ; 
The  way  of  a  Serpent  upon  a  rock  ; 
The  way  of  a  Ship  in  the  midst  of  the  sea ; 
And  the  way  of  a  Man  with  a  Maid. 

It  is  obvious  that  the  point  of  the  epigram  is  the  last 
line,  and  the  other  three  wonders  are  introduced  only 
to  make  the  fourth  wonder  appear  as  a  climax.  This 
one-two-three  form  is  common  in  fables  or  folk-stories. 
Three  sons  of  a  father  are  to  learn  separate  trades,  and 
the  one  who  proves  most  skilful  in  his  trade  is  to 
inherit  the  family  property.  One  son  becomes  a  barber, 
one  a  farrier,  one  a  fencer.  When  they  meet  their 
father  again,  the  first  son  accomplishes  the  feat  of 
shaving  a  racer  as  he  runs  past.  The  farrier  fixes  shoes 
on  the  horses  of  a  chariot  without  stopping  it.  The 
party  are  overtaken  by  a  shower,  and  the  son  who  is 
a  fencer  waves  his  sword  with  such  rapidity  that  the 
rain  is  warded  off  as  completely  as  by  an  umbrella : 
the  family  property  is  voted  to  him.  It  is  obvious  that 
the  form  of  this  story  is  made  by  introducing  the  two 
inferior  feats  as  a  background  for  the  third.  Now, 
this  one-two-three  form  pervades  every  part  of  the 
Kalevala,  and  is  its  most  distinctive  literary  feature. 
There  is,  of  course,  no  sanctity  in  the  number  three  :  the 
series  may  be  of  four,  five,  up  to  eight  details,  but  in  all 
cases  the  rest  of  the  details  simply  lead  to  the  last  as  a 
climax.  The  Lord  of  Pohja  hears  the  dogs  at  his  gate 
barking,  and  bids  his  daughter  go  and  see  the  cause  of 
this :   but  the  daughter  has  other  occupations. 

"  I  have  not  the  time,  my  father, 
I  must  clean  the  largest  cowshed, 
[339] 


COLLATERAL  WORLD  LITERATURE 

Tend  our  herd  of  many  cattle, 
Grind  the  corn  between  the  millstones, 
Through  the  sieve  must  sift  the  flour, 
Grind  the  corn  to  finest  flour, 
And  the  grinder  is  but  feeble." 

The  dogs  bark  still,  and  the  Lord  of  Pohja  bids  his 
dame  go  and  investigate :   but  she  also  is  busy. 

"  This  is  not  a  time  for  talking, 
For  my  household  cares  are  heavy, 
And  I  must  prepare  the  dinner, 
And  must  bake  a  loaf  enormous. 
And  for  this  the  dough  be  kneading, 
Bake  the  loaf  of  finest  flour, 
And  the  baker  is  but  feeble." 

Pohja's  Master  grumbles  at  women  and  their  cares,  but 
bids  his  son  go  and  find  the  cause  of  the  dogs'  barking. 

Thereupon  the  son  made  answer : 
"I've  no  time  to  look  about  me; 
I  must  grind  the  blunted  hatchet. 
Chop  a  log  of  wood  to  pieces. 
Chop  to  bits  the  largest  wood-pile. 
And  to  faggots  small  reduce  it. 
Large  the  pile,  and  small  the  faggots, 
And  the  workman  of  the  weakest." 

The  dogs  still  bark,  and  Pohja's  Master  rises  himself 
and  goes  to  reconnoitre.  Now  —  unless  some  one  is 
prepared  to  suggest  as  underljdng  moral  that  in  Pohjola 
"  everybody  works  but  father  "  —  we  must  recognize 
that  poetic  form  is  being  given  to  a  trifling  detail  by  this 
device  of  numerical  series,  three  negatives  leading  to 
the  cUmax  of  a  positive  act.     And  the  reader  of  the 

[340] 


THE  KALEVALA 

Kalevala  will  recognize  this  one-two-three  form  as 
constantly  recurring  in  application  to  every  type  of 
incident.  It  seems  a  small  matter  for  Ilmarinen's 
sister,  when  she  sees  Vainamoinen  sailing  in  his  boat, 
to  ask  him  where  he  is  going.  But  the  answer  is  not 
simple.  First  he  says  he  is  going  salmon-fishing :  but 
the  maid  points  to  the  absence  in  his  boat  of  the  proper 
tackle.  Then  he  says  he  is  wandering  in  search  of 
geese:  but  Annikki  has  witnessed  hunting,  and  can 
expose  this  deceit.  Then  Vainamoinen  declares  he  is 
on  his  way  to  a  mighty  fight :  but  Annikki  has  seen  the 
ways  of  battle  in  her  father's  time,  and  convicts  him  of 
another  lie.  Only  when  the  question  is  repeated  a 
fourth  time,  does  the  real  answer  come :  — 

All  the  truth  I  now  will  tell  you, 
Though  at  first  I  Ued  a  little. 

In  precisely  the  same  fashion,  Vainamoinen,  questioned 
why  he  has  come  to  the  River  of  Darkness  unsubdued 
by  death  or  disease,  gives  four  obviously  false  reasons, 
and  on  the  fifth  repetition  of  the  inquiry,  says :  — 

True  it  is  I  lied  a  little, 

And  again  I  spoke  a  falsehood, 

But  at  length  I  answer  truly. 

So  deeply  is  the  one-two-three  form  embedded  in 
Finnish  minstrelsy  that  a  man  must  needs  tell  a  series  ^pf 
lies  before  he  can  permit  himself  to  tell  the  truth. 

All  this  has  a  bearing  upon  the  struggle  between  lyric 
and  epic,  which  marks  the  stage  of  literary  evolution  to 
which  the  Finnish  poem  belongs.  What  I  have  called 
the  one-two-three  form  is  obviously   lyric  in   spirit : 

[341 J 


COLLATERAL  WORLD  LITERATURE 

it  is  the  pulsam  ter  pede  terram  of  the  dance.  Forms 
of  recurrence  seem  to  pass  into  progressive  action  by 
extension  of  the  nmnerical  series :  we  have  a  succes- 
sion of  such  series,  or  perhaps  the  climax  of  a  numerical 
series  breaks  down  and  so  opens  up  another  series.  It 
is  difficult  to  convey  the  idea  otherwise  than  by  illus- 
tration.^ Vainamomen  w^oos  the  Maid  of  Pohja  in  her 
rainbow  splendor :  she  sets  him  feats  by  which  to  win 
her,  and  we  at  once  get  the  one-two-three  form.  He 
must  spht  a  horsehair  with  a  blunt  knife  and  tie  an 
egg  in  knots :  the  sorcerer  at  once  does  this.  Again, 
he  must  peel  a  stone  and  hew  a  pile  of  ice  without 
splinters :  Vainamoinen  finds  this  no  hard  task.  Once 
more,  he  must  carve  a  boat  from  splinters  of  a  spindle 
and  shuttle.  Vainamoinen  declares  this  is  easy;  but 
this  climax  of  the  one-two-three  series  breaks  down,  for 
a  chance  stroke  of  his  axe  wounds  Vainamoinen  in  the 
knee.     The  blood  flows  in  truly  epic  profusion  — 

Seven  large  boats  with  blood  are  brimming, 
Eight  large  tubs  are  overflowing  — 

and  as  the  wounded  hero  in  his  sledge  seeks  for  help, 
another  one-two-three  form  develops.  He  passes  one 
homestead  asking  if  there  is  any  one  to  heal  him,  and  a 
child  by  the  stove  repfies  there  is  no  one ;  he  passes 
another  homestead,  and  a  crone  from  beneath  the 
quilt  gives  the  same  answer;  he  passes  a  third,  and 
an  old  man  by  the  stove  replies  that  greater  floods 
than  this  have  been  stemmed  by  the  words  of  the 

1  The  illustration  that  follows  extends  through  Runes  VIII  and 
IX  of  the  poem. 

[342] 


THE  KALEVALA 

Creator.  But  this  apparent  climax  to  the  numerical 
series  breaks  down,  for,  as  he  sets  about  the  task  of 
healing,  the  old  man  finds  he  has  forgotten  the  ''word 
of  origin"  for  iron  —  the  secret  history  of  iron  that 
will  prove  a  spell  against  its  effects.  Vainamoinen 
can  supply  this;  and  the  "word  of  origin"  proves  an 
episode  in  itself,  which  falls  into  a  succession  of  number 
series.  We  hear  of  the  three  children  of  primeval  Air 
—  Water  the  eldest,  Iron  the  youngest.  Fire  in  the 
midst  between  them.  Three  daughters  of  Creation 
stroll  on  the  borders  of  the  cloudlets,  and  milk  from 
their  breasts  drops  on  earth :  where  black  milk  from 
the  first  drops,  the  softest  Iron  is  found ;  where  white 
milk  from  the  second,  is  found  hard  steel ;  where  red 
milk  from  the  third  has  trickled,  undeveloped  Iron 
appears.  Now  an  elaborate  example  of  the  one-two- 
three  form  follows.  Iron  desires  to  visit  his  brother 
Fire,  but  has  to  fly  from  his  fury  and  take  refuge  in 
the  swamps.  A  second  time  Iron  would  visit  Fire, 
when  wolves  and  bears  have  uncovered  what  the 
swamps  had  hidden ;  there  is  now  the  smith  Ilmarinen 
to  cast  the  Iron  into  the  Fire,  and  it  is  elaborately  told 
how  the  smith  makes  the  Iron  swear  to  do  only  peaceful 
acts  before  he  will  deliver  it  from  the  fury  of  the  Fire. 
There  is  still  however  the  tempering  of  the  Iron,  and 
this  makes  the  climax  of  the  series :  while  the  smith  is 
seeking  honey  of  the  bee  for  the  tempering  mixture, 
the  hornet  brings  instead  venom  and  acid,  and  this  is 
how  the  Iron  violates  its  oath  and  inflicts  wounds  on 
its  friends.  The  word  of  origin  for  Iron  and  its  evils 
being  thus  supplied,  the  old  man  can  now  proceed  with 

[343] 


COLLATERAL  WORLD  LITERATURE 

the  spell  that  is  to  stop  the  flow  of  blood.  The  spell 
makes  several  series  in  succession  of  parallel  paragraphs. 
A  series  with  the  refrain  — 

Once  thou  wast  devoid  of  greatness  — 

is  followed  by  the  one-two-three  form :  Who  has  led 
thee  to  this  outrage  ?  not  this,  not  that,  not  the  other 
relation,  but  thy  own  self.  Then  follows  an  appeal  to 
the  flowing  blood,  the  parallel  paragraphs  of  which  are 
on  a  liturgical  model  that  appears  often  in  the  poem. 
The  flow  of  blood  at  last  stops;  but  the  remainder  of 
the  healing  process  opens  another  number  series.  A 
boy  is  sent  to  procure  healing  ointment :  the  bee  sup- 
phes  honey,  but  this  mixed  with  many  herbs  proves 
insufficient.  Then  the  boy  tries  herbs  culled  by  nine 
magicians  and  eight  wise  seers :  the  mixture  fixes 
broken  trees  and  stones,  and  is  pronounced  by  the  old 
man  sufficient,  yet  when  it  is  appHed  Vainamoinen 
writhes  in  agony.  Finally,  the  old  man  binds  the 
wound  \\dth  a  silken  fabric,  and  with  this  climax  to  the 
last  number  series  the  whole  incident  terminates. 

We  may  go  farther,  and  say  that  the  plot  of  the  poem 
as  a  w^hole  is  a  variant  of  the  one-two-three  series  which 
gives  form  to  so  many  of  the  detailed  incidents.  It 
must  be  remembered  that  the  Kalevala  was  put  into 
its  present  form  by  Topehus  and  Lonnrot  less  than  a 
century  ago.  But  their  work  is  not  to  be  understood 
as  the  process  sometimes  called  Homerization  —  inde- 
pendent creative  work  bringing  floating  matter  into 
coherence :  it  was  a  brilliant  reconstruction  out  of 
fragments  of  a  unity  belonging  to  the  poem  in  ancient 

[344] 


THE  KALEVALA 

times.  Every  reader  will  feel  that  the  progressive 
action  of  the  whole  poem  is  dim  in  comparison  with 
the  lyric  expansion  of  the  separate  incidents.  But 
this  progressive  movement,  such  as  it  is,  seems  that  of 
the  numerical  series.  The  poem  is  arranged  in  fifty 
runes  or  cantos.  The  first  two  and  the  last  must  be 
written  off  as  prologue  and  epilogue :  the  remaining 
cantos  give  us  the  whole  plot.  As  the  war  of  Greek 
and  Trojan  makes  an  Enveloping  Action  for  the  Iliad 
and  Odyssey,  so  here  an  Enveloping  Action  appears  in 
the  rivalry  of  Kalevala,  the  Land  of  Heroes,  and  the 
far  distant  Pohjola,  gloomy  region  of  the  north.  The 
three  heroes,  Vainamoinen,  Ilmarinen,  Lemminkainen, 
make  raids  from  their  Kalevala  to  this  Pohjola.  The 
whole  movement  falls  into  three  phases,  through  which 
we  can  trace  progression  :  it  being  always  remembered 
that  at  any  point  the  detailed  incidents  can  be  ex- 
panded out  of  all  proportion  to  their  bearing  on  the 
general  plot.  The  first  phase  of  the  movement  (Runes 
III  to  XV)  gives  us  the  heroes  making  separate  expe- 
ditions to  the  north.  Vainamoinen,  having  lost  his 
expected  bride,  Aino,  seeks  a  bride  in  the  land  of  Pohjola, 
and  after  various  adventures  returns  disappointed; 
then  Ilmarinen  is  forced  to  visit  the  same  region,  and, 
though  he  forges  for  the  northerners  the  Sampo,  yet  he 
returns  without  the  bride ;  then  Lemminkainen  makes 
his  raid  on  the  north  in  search  of  a  bride,  with  conse- 
quences that  bring  on  him  death,  from  which  he  is 
resuscitated  by  his  loving  mother.  In  the  second 
phase  of  the  movement  (Runes  XVI  to  XXX)  there  is 
some  union  between  the  heroes.    Vainamoinen  and 

[345] 


COLL.\TERAL  WORLD  LITERATURE 

Ilmarinen  go  to  Pohjola  in  friendly  rivalry ;  Ilmarinen 
wins  the  bride,  and  there  is  elaborate  celebration  of  the 
wedding ;  but  Lemminkainen,  pointedly  omitted  from 
the  invitation  list,  works  a  terrible  revenge  on  the 
Lord  of  Pohjola,  with  terrible  nemesis  upon  himself. 
What  opens  the  third  phase  of  the  movement  is  the 
longest  of  digressions :  six  runes  relate  the  tragic  his- 
tory of  Kullervo,  a  separate  poem  in  itself.  Its  only 
connection  with  the  general  plot  is  that  one  of  Kul- 
lervo's  victims  is  the  wife  of  Ilmarinen,  and  this  leads 
Ilmarinen  to  seek  another  daughter  of  the  north.  This 
project  introduces  the  final  phase  of  the  action,^  in  which 
the  three  heroes,  now  in  full  cooperation,  make  their 
raid  upon  the  land  of  Pohjola :  fearful  magic  contests 
ensue,  in  which  the  very  sun  and  moon  are  lost  to  the 
world,  until  at  last  the  heroes  of  Kalevala  are  trium- 
phant, and  the  balance  of  the  world  is  restored.  The 
three  phases  of  the  movement  thus  seem  to  make  the 
one-two- three  form  with  its  climax.  The  two  intro- 
ductory cantos  give  the  origin  of  the  world  in  general, 
such  as  in  other  languages  so  often  commences  a  grand 
epic.  And  the  final  rune  is  a  piece  of  dim  symbolism, 
suggesting  how  a  new  era  —  perhaps  the  Christian 
faith  —  is  coming  in,  and  the  poet  feels  that  his  songs 
belong  to  a  past  era  that  will  never  return. 

I  have  said  that  the  action  of  the  poem  lacks  reality ; 
but  there  is  plenty  of  reality  in  the  picture  of  life  which 
it  presents.  And  the  life  presented  is  above  all  family 
life :  the  household  with  its  four  centres  of  father, 
mother,  brother,  sister ;  incidents  of  the  bath  and  the 

1  Runes  XXXVII  to  XLIX. 
[346] 


THE  KALEVALA 

toilet ;  cooking  and  feasting ;  dancing  maids  and  bold 
lovers.  The  main  personages  are  types :  Ilmarinen 
and  Vainamoinen  seem  to  differ  as  the  mechanical  arts 
differ  from  what  we  call  fine  arts  ;  while  Lemminkainen 
suggests  the  idle  life  that  has  however  plenty  of 
vigor  when  necessity  requires.  A  conventional  posi- 
tion is  given  to  the  old  crone,  or  the  old  man  past  work, 
or  the  babe,  as  utterers  of  oracular  wisdom.  And  the 
supreme  interest  of  all  is  that  of  wooing  and  marriage  : 
while  most  of  the  incidents  are  briefly  told,  more 
than  three  thousand  lines  are  devoted  to  the  wedding 
ceremony  of  Ilmarinen  united  with  the  daughter  of  the 
north.  Nowhere  in  the  poetry  of  the  world  do  we  find 
celebrated  with  so  much  force  and  beauty  as  here  that 
mingling  of  joy  and  sorrow  which  belongs  to  every  wed- 
ding, when  the  rapture  of  youthful  love  clashes  with 
the  pang  of  the  maiden  hfe  transplanted  from  home 
surroundings  into  an  alien  soil.  The  wedding  cere- 
mony has  already  been  elaborated  at  length  when  the 
moment  of  parting  comes. 

Bridegroom,  dearest  of  my  brothers, 
Wait  a  week,  and  yet  another  ; 
For  thy  loved  one  is  not  ready, 
And  her  toilet  is  not  finished. 
Only  half  her  hair  is  plaited. 
And  a  half  is  still  unplaited. 

Bridegroom,  dearest  of  my  brothers, 
Wait  a  week,  and  yet  another. 
For  thy  loved  one  is  not  ready, 
And  her  toilet  is  not  finished ; 
One  sleeve  only  is  adjusted. 
And  mifitted  still  the  other. 
[347] 


COLLATERAL  WORLD  LITERATURE 

Through  two  more  stanzas  the  bridegroom  must  wait 
for  the  putting  on  of  shoes  and  gloves  ;  and  then  :  — 

Bridegroom,  dearest  of  my  brothers, 
Thou  hast  waited  long  unwearied ; 
For  thy  love  at  length  is  ready. 
And  thy  duck  has  made  her  toilet. 

But  the  song  calls  upon  the  bride  to  survey  both  sides 
of  the  question,  and  dwells,  detail  by  detail,  on  all  she 
is  leaving  behind  her ;   the  tearful  girl  — 

One  foot  resting  on  the  threshold, 
In  my  husband's  sledge  the  other  — 

realizes  how  different  this  is  from  the  joyous  picture  of 
wedlock  she  had  fancied.  An  old  crone  of  the  house- 
hold rubs  this  sore,  instead  of  bringing  the  plaster : 
she  reiterates  the  warnings  against  lovers  she  had 
uttered ;  insists  upon  the  terrible  change  of  surround- 
ings :  — 

In  thy  home  thou  wast  a  floweret. 
And  the  joy  of  father's  household, 
And  thy  father  called  thee  Moonhght, 
And  thy  mother  called  thee  Simshine, 
And  thy  brother  Sparkling  Water, 
And  thy  sister  called  thee  Blue-cloth. 
To  another  home  thou  goest. 
There  to  find  a  stranger  mother.  .  .  . 
Sprig  the  father  shouts  against  thee, 
Slut  the  mother  calls  unto  thee, 
And  the  brother  calls  thee  Doorstep, 
And  the  sister.  Nasty  Creature. 

A  fancy  picture  of  the  new  home  with  all  possible  hor- 
rors is  detailed  by  this  old  crone,  and  song  follows  with 
the  refrain :  — 

[348] 


THE  KALEVALA 

Weep  thou,  weep  thou,  youthful  maiden, 
When  thou  weepest,  weep  thou  sorely. 

The  bride  does  weep  —  filling  her  fists  with  tears  of 
longing  —  at  her  sad  fate :  then  an  infant  on  the  floor 
strikes  the  opposite  tone,  and  oracularly  describes  the 
new  home  and  household  as  full  of  all  good.  It  is  now 
time  to  instruct  the  bride :  at  interminable  length  the 
wise  woman  counsels  her  upon  all  the  details  of  house- 
hold life,  in  the  midst  of  which  she  is  to  restrain  her 
own  feelings  and  be  subservient  to  all  around  her  in 
the  new  home.  But  a  wandering  old  dame  strikes  a 
contrary  note,  and  tells  how  she  did  all  this,  and  yet 
found  nothing  but  misery,  running  away  at  last  to  her 
old  home  only  to  see  desolation  and  experience  neglect. 
The  bridegroom  in  turn  is  instructed  —  in  the  fullest 
detail  —  how  he  is  to  be  a  model  husband,  and  protect 
his  wife  from  all  ill ;  even  if  she  prove  refractory,  he 
must  be  patient :  — 

In  the  bed  do  thou  instruct  her, 
And  behind  the  door  advise  her, 
For  a  whole  year  thus  instruct  her. 
Thus  by  word  of  mouth  advise  her. 
With  thine  eyes  the  next  year  teach  her, 
And  the  third  year  teach  by  stamping. 

An  old  man  by  the  stove  strikes  a  contrary  note :  he  so 
dealt  with  his  wife,  and  found  it  would  not  answer. 

But  I  knew  another  method, 
Kjiew  another  way  to  tame  her ; 
So  I  peeled  myself  a  birch-shoot, 
When  she  came,  and  called  me  birdie ; 
[349] 


COLLATERAL  WORLD  LITERATURE 

But  when  juniper  I  gathered, 

Then  she  stooped,  and  called  me  darling ; 

When  I  lifted  rods  of  willow, 

On  my  neck  she  fell  embracing. 

The  bride  now  completely  breaks  down,  and  in  long- 
drawn  details  of  pathetic  reminiscence  takes  farewell 
of  the  loved  sm^roundings  of  her  home ;  she  pictures  her- 
self returning  to  it  at  some  future  time  only  to  find  all 
changed,  with  but  the  old  stallion  she  had  fed,  and  her 
brother's  favorite  dog,  to  recognize  her.  She  is  whirled 
away  in  Ilmarinen's  sledge,  and  experiences  a  home- 
coming in  which  the  picture  is  reversed,  and  nothing 
seems  too  good  to  be  said  or  done  for  the  cuckoo,  the 
rosy  water-maiden,  the  blue  duck,  the  fresh  cherry 
branch,  that  has  been  brought  into  the  old  home.  It 
is  one  of  the  surprises  of  world  Uterature  that  from 
the  most  distant  point  of  the  literary  field,  and  from 
the  earliest  stages  of  poetry,  comes  what,  with  all  its 
quaintness,  is  the  sweetest  and  most  elaborate  celebra- 
tion of  wedding  joys  and  sorrows. 


[3501 


CHAPTER  VII 

COMPARATIVE  READING 

COMPARATIVE  Literature  has  become  a  familiar 
term.  As  before  remarked,  it  seems  to  be  a 
middle  stage  between  the  purely  departmental  treat- 
ment of  literature,  which  has  prevailed  in  the  past,  and 
that  which  is  surely  coming — the  study  of  hterature  as 
an  organic  whole.  Usage  however  seems  to  associate 
the  term  with  discussions  that  are  formally  historic  or 
scientific  :  the  suggestion  of  this  chapter  is  that  the  com- 
parative treatment  applies  not  less  to  the  study  of  liter- 
ature which  is  purely  appreciative.  For  the  compara- 
tive attitude  of  mind  is  a  wonderful  quickener  of  insight. 
A  man  may  have  come  by  unconscious  tradition  to 
speak  his  own  language  with  correctness  and  discrim- 
ination :  when  he  proceeds  to  study  some  other  lan- 
guage, or  some  two  or  three  others,  with  their  resem- 
blances and  differences,  he  wakes  up  to  the  fact  that 
he  never  before  realized  what  language  really  was. 
Or  again,  a  man  may  be  familiar  with  the  constitution 
of  his  own  country,  and  know  much  about  the  con- 
stitutions of  other  states  ;  but  when  he  reads  Aristotle 
or  Macchiavelli,  and  sees  constitutions  formally  com- 
pared, he  realizes  that  there  is  such  a  thing  as  political 
science.     The  principle  holds  good  in  Uterary  culture. 

1351] 


COMPARATIVE  READING 

The  most  desultory  reading  need  not  lose  any  of  its 
charm  by  the  reader's  having  acquired  a  habit  of 
mental  grouping  in  the  selection  of  what  he  is  to  read. 
He  may  feel  after  various  treatments  of  a  common 
theme  that  come  from  widely  sundered  literatures,  or 
from  different  literary  types ;  or,  with  less  direct  con- 
nection than  this,  diverse  pieces  of  literature  will  group 
themselves  to  his  mind  in  relations  which  may  be 
highly  interesting  to  feel,  though  not  easy  to  formulate. 
Such  Comparative  Reading  gives  us  the  miscellaneous 
reader  in  his  attitude  to  the  unity  of  literature. 

A  favorite  group  of  my  own  has  for  its  centre  the 
Alcestis  of  Euripides.  With  this  it  is  natural  to  put, 
what  professes  to  be  a  version,  what  is  really  a  per- 
version of  that  play,  though  an  eminently  beautiful 
poem  in  itself,  Robert  Browning's  Balaustion's  Adven- 
ture. Alfieri,  of  whom  it  is  sometimes  said  that  he  is 
to  continental  Europe  what  Shakespeare  is  to  England, 
has  been  inspired  by  Euripides'  play  to  give  us  his 
Alcestis  the  Second.  The  world's  greatest  story-teller, 
William  Morris,  has  a  Love  of  Alcestis  as  one  of  the  tales 
in  his  Earthly  Paradise.  All  these  are  different  versions 
of  the  same  story ;  and  the  list  can  easily  be  extended. 
But  I  would  especially  add,  as  a  counterpart  to  the  rest 
of  the  group,  an  analogous  story  cast  in  the  atmosphere 
of  modem  religion  —  the  Golden  Legend  of  Longfellow. 

To  one  familiar  with  Greek  life  and  the  conventions 
of  the  Attic  stage  the  Alcestis  is  an  eminently  simple 
play.  Admetus,  King  of  Pherae,  is  the  great  type  of 
Hospitality :  not  in  the  modern  sense  of  the  word, 
which  makes  it  little  more  than  entertainment ;    but 

[352] 


THE  ALCESTIS  GROUP 

the  lofty  Greek  ideal  of  a  sacred  bond  between  host- 
friend  and  guest-friend  that  gives  the  fullest  scope  for 
gracious  and  self-sacrificing  demeanor.  Heaven  itself 
has  recognized  the  hospitality  of  Admetus,  and  the  god 
Apollo,  condemned  to  spend  a  year  on  earth,  has  made 
himself  an  inmate  of  his  house ;  there  seems  to  Apollo 
to  be  a  spirit  of  holiness  pervading  the  entire  household. 
Apollo  has  sought  to  bestow  on  his  host-friend  the 
gift  of  immortality ;  his  great  struggle  with  the  Fates 
has  proved  but  half  successful,  and  Admetus  is  to 
escape  death  only  if  a  willing  substitute  be  found. 
But  all  have  drawn  back,  even  the  aged  father  and 
mother  of  the  king,  with  so  few  days  to  give  up : 
Alcestis,  in  the  full  tide  of  her  youth,  has  made  herself 
the  victim  to  save  her  husband  and  king.  The  drama 
opens  with  the  fatal  day,  and  the  splendid  palace 
plunged  in  mourning ;  we  see  Apollo  making  one  more 
effort  to  restrain  Death,  but  the  monster  shudders  out 
his  refusal : — 

Greater  my  glory  when  the  youthful  die ! 

To  Alcestis  it  is  a  glory  thus  by  her  life  to  save  the 
state:  she  opens  the  day  with  festal  dress  and  de- 
meanor, but  breaks  down  at  the  farewell  visit  to  the 
bridal  chamber.  True  to  the  religion  of  brightness,  she 
has  herself  carried  in  her  agonies  outside  the  palace  to 
see  once  more  the  glorious  sky :  but  the  scene  around 
her  changes  to  the  regions  of  the  dead.  She  rallies  her 
strength  to  make  an  appeal  for  her  little  children,  that 
no  second  mother  be  put  over  them  when  she  is  gone : 
Admetus  renounces,  not  wedlock  alone,  but  all  forms 

2  a  [  353  ] 


COMPARATIVE  READING 

of  joy  save  the  gazing  on  the  image  of  his  wife.  She 
dies,  and  the  Chorus  sing  her  requiem,  once  more 
dweUing  on  the  strangeness  of  age  shrinking  from 
death  and  youth  taking  its  place.  Suddenly  there  is 
a  turn  in  the  action :  a  guest-friend  of  the  house  ap- 
pears in  Hercules  —  the  Hercules  of  tragedy,  whose 
whole  life  is  a  succession  of  toils  by  which  to  sweep 
away  the  evils  of  the  world.  When  he  sees  tokens  of 
mourning,  Hercules  is  for  withdrawing  and  seeking 
hospitality  elsewhere ;  Admetus  waves  aside  his  oppo- 
sition, and  —  with  the  parallel  verse  which  the  Greek 
stage  loves  —  fences  with  Hercules'  questions,  leaving 
him  to  suppose  that  this  is  only  some  commonplace 
bereavement.  He  commits  Hercules  to  the  care  of  a 
Steward,  giving  orders  that  all  doors  shall  be  barred, 
lest  any  sound  of  mourning  might  disturb  the  serenity 
of  his  guest.  At  this  picture  of  self-restraint,  the 
Chorus  are  moved  to  an  ode  which  celebrates  the  whole 
record  of  the  hospitable  house :  they  strangely  catch  a 
note  of  hope.  The  funeral  procession  is  interrupted 
by  a  harsh  discord  :  Pheres,  the  aged  father  of  the  king, 
wishes  to  join  and  is  repelled.  This  is  the  "forensic 
contest"  of  the  drama,  in  which,  by  a  convention  of  the 
Greek  stage,  the  wrong  side  of  the  situation  is,  para- 
doxically, to  be  made  as  vivid  as  the  right  side.  Ad- 
metus emphasizes  the  one  thought :  — 

Is  Death  alike  then  to  the  young  and  old  ? 

Pheres  seeks  to  screen  his  cowardice  by  the  novel  sug- 
gestion that  djdng  by  substitute  is  itself  a  cowardly  act. 
When  the  funeral  procession,  including  the  Chorus,  has 

[354] 


THE  ALCESTIS  GROUP 

withdrawn,  the  Steward  comes  forward  to  give  vent  to 
the  irritation  he  may  not  show  in  the  presence  of  his 
lord's  guest ;  the  cause  of  this  irritation,  Hercules,  fol- 
lows —  the  Hercules  now  of  comedy,  jolly  banqueter 
who  puts  all  serious  thought  aside  while  the  moment  of 
relaxation  lasts.  But  in  time  his  suspicions  are  aroused, 
and  he  forces  the  truth  from  the  Steward.  We  see  the 
comic  transformed  into  the  tragic  Hercules,  as  his  mind 
takes  in  the  friendly  deceit,  and  how  he  has  been  out- 
done in  generosity  by  his  friend :  some  worthy  requital 
must  be  found,  and  he  will  not  shrink  from  a  wrestle 
with  Death  himself.  As  the  funeral  procession  returns 
the  Chorus  seek  to  console  Admetus,  and  use  the  argu- 
ment that  if  he  has  suffered  the  common  bereavement  he 
has  gained  by  it  nothing  less  than  a  Ufe.  The  word  jars 
upon  Admetus  :  he  declares  he  has  not  gained  but  lost, 
and  displays  the  contrast  of  Alcestis  in  honor  and  at 
rest,  while  for  himself  and  his  household  is  the  widowed 
life,  and  the  new  touch  of  bitterness  in  the  cruel  miscon- 
struction of  the  situation  which  his  father's  words  have 
suggested.  The  Chorus  can  only  strike  the  note  of 
fate  and  inexorable  necessity.  Then  there  is  one  more 
interruption  of  Admetus 's  mourning,  and  another  de- 
mand for  hospitable  graciousness,  as  Hercules  reenters, 
with  a  veiled  woman,  whom  he  describes  as  a  prize  won 
in  a  notable  wrestling  match,  and  proposes  to  leave  her 
in  his  friend's  house.  But  now  that  Hercules  knows 
what  has  happened,  Admetus  appeals  to  him  :  his  house 
is  now  no  place  for  youth  and  beauty.  Always  thought- 
ful for  others,  even  the  humblest,  Admetus  turns  to  the 
veiled  woman,  to  soften  down  his  apparent  inhospitality ; 

13551 


COMPARATIVE  READING 

but  a  fancied  resemblance  to  the  figure  of  Alcestis  brings 
a  complete  breakdown.  At  last  Hercules  lifts  the  veil 
and  shows  the  restored  Alcestis.  All  is  happiness  again ; 
and  the  last  word  of  Hercules,  as  if  the  moral  of  the 
whole  story,  is,  — 

See  thou  reverence  strangers. 

Yet  this  simple  drama  has  been  completely  misread  by 
Browning,  who  usually  shows  the  deepest  insight  into 
Greek  life  and  art.^  It  is  true  Browning  does  not  di- 
rectly render  Euripides'  play :  he  has  created  a  charming 
frame  for  the  story,  in  the  incident  of  the  Greek  girl 
Balaustion,  captured  by  pirates,  and  describing  a  per- 
formance of  the  Alcestis  to  win  her  release.  But  Brown- 
ing, or  Balaustion,  whichever  the  reader  pleases,  has 
seen  in  the  story  nothing  but  a  wife  undertaking  to  die 
in  place  of  her  husband ;  and  our  first  thought  in  such  a 
case  will  be  the  selfishness  of  the  husband  who  accepts 
such  a  sacrifice.  Balaustion,  as  she  proceeds,  ampli- 
fies and  condenses,  reads  between  the  lines  and  insinu- 
ates, until  there  is  nothing  left  in  the  story  but  the  selfish 
husband,  who  however  in  the  latter  part  of  the  action 
rises  out  of  his  selfishness,  and  so  becomes  worthy  of 
the  restoration  worked  out  for  him  by  Hercules.  Now, 
such  a  view  of  Admetus  is  in  flat  contradiction  to  every 
line  of  Euripides'  poem.  All  the  personages  of  the 
drama  —  Apollo,  representing  the  gods ;  the  Chorus, 
who  stand  for  public  opinion  and  for  the  impression  the 

1 1  have  discussed  tliis  question  in  pages  111-116  of  my  Ancient 
Classical  Drama;  also,  at  full  length,  in  a  Paper  on  Balaustion'' s 
Adventure  as  a  beautiful  misrepresentation  of  the  original,  published  in 
theTransactionsof  the  Browning  Society  of  London  (1891  :  No.Lxvii). 

[356] 


THE  ALCESTIS  GROUP 

poet  wishes  to  leave  upon  his  audience ;  Hercules,  him- 
self the  self-sacrificing  toiler  for  mankind  —  all  look  up 
to  Admetus  as  the  ideal  of  sublime  generosity.  The 
modern  reader's  mistake  is  in  seeing  a  wife's  sacrifice  of 
herself  for  a  husband  where  the  Greek  audience  would 
see  a  subject  sacrificing  herself  for  the  king,  and  so  for 
the  state ;  the  foundation  principle  of  Greek  ethics  was 
that  individuals  existed  only  for  the  state.  There  is 
no  discussion  of  this  in  Euripides'  poem,  because  the 
idea  is  taken  for  granted.  Such  expressions  as 
'^chance,"  "abrupt  doom,"  ''destiny,"  ''appointment 
of  the  Gods,"  "necessity,"  are  applied  to  the  sit- 
uation of  Admetus  needing  to  die  by  substitute; 
the  sole  question  with  the  personages  of  the  plot 
is,  who  the  substitute  is  to  be.  And  here  again  is 
a  difference  between  the  ancient  and  modern  point  of 
view :  all  through  the  drama  it  is  assumed  that  the 
aged  parents,  not  the  youthful  wife,  would  be  the  right- 
ful sacrifice ;  that  —  on  the  basis  of  utility  to  the  state 
—  age  cannot  presume  to  rank  itself  with  youth.  Of 
course,  Pheres  is  an  exception  to  all  this  :  but  Pheres  is 
the  one  whom  all  the  personages  of  the  play,  including 
Alcestis  herself,  regard  as  shirking  in  cowardice  the 
glory  of  self-sacrifice.  But  there  is  something  more  to 
be  said.  Browning,  at  the  conclusion  of  the  play,  sets 
himself  to  reconstruct  the  story  so  as  to  make  an  Adme- 
tus worthy  of  Alcestis  ;  and  the  point  of  his  reconstruc- 
tion is  that  the  new  Admetus  is  representative  of  a  cause, 
and  so  the  personal  nature  of  the  sacrifice  is  eliminated. 
But  this  is  just  what  Euripides'  play  contains  :  the  great 
ideal  of  Hospitality  is  summed  up  in  Admetus;    and 

[357] 


COMPARATIVE  READING 

the  foundation,  the  turning-point,  the  consummation 
of  the  action  are  all  made  to  rest  upon  enthusiasm  for 
the  hospitable  spirit  of  the  king  of  Pherae,  until  (as  we 
have  seen)  the  cue  for  the  curtain  is  the  maxim  of  rever- 
ence for  strangers. 

In  his  preoccupation  with  the  thought  of  a  sinner 
rising  out  of  his  sin  Browning  has  missed  the  more 
beautiful  motive  which  does  underlie  Euripides'  poem. 
The  hospitality  of  Admetus  belongs  to  the  brightness  and 
glory  of  life,  which  made  the  main  religion  of  the  Greeks, 
but  which  falls  into  the  background  in  modern  life.  Our 
sjonpathies  go  out  to  Alcestis,  because  domestic  love  is 
our  great  ideal.  But  Euripides,  one  of  the  central 
points  of  world  literature,  is  the  anticipator  of  modern 
in  ancient  life  :  his  handling  of  the  play  has  the  effect  of 
making  our  modern  ideal  of  love  gradually  vanquish 
the  ancient  ideal  of  glory.  In  the  earlier  part  of  the 
action  the  thought  is  all  for  Admetus,  and  the  glorious 
house  saved  by  the  noble  sacrifice  of  Alcestis.  But  soon 
the  doubt  begins  to  arise.  Is  this  gain  or  loss?  The 
doubt  spreads,  and  spreads,  until  in  the  return  from  the 
funeral  Admetus's  speech  brings  out  how  all  gain  and 
glory  have  gone,  and  love  fills  the  whole  field.  Then 
only  may  the  feat  of  Hercules  restore  the  harmony; 
brightness  and  love  are  united,  the  pubhc  state  and  the 
personal  bond. 

If  Browning  misreads,  much  more  Alfieri ;  powerful 
delineator  of  character  and  passion  in  general,  the  Ital- 
ian dramatist  has  no  insight  into  Greek  life.  As  little 
does  he  understand  the  conventions  of  the  Attic  stage ; 
instead  of  the  subtle  suggestiveness  of  the  choral  f unc- 

[358] 


THE  ALCESTIS  GROUP 

tion  in  Greek  drama  what  we  have  is  merely  the  chorus 
of  ItaHan  opera.  The  drama  of  Alcestis  the  Second  is  an 
eminently  successful  piece  of  poetic  whitewashing,  where 
in  reality  no  whitewashing  is  required;  the  dramatist 
reconstructs  Euripides'  story  with  a  view  of  saving  the 
character,  not  of  Admetus  only,  but  even  of  Pheres. 
Admetus  is  lying  at  the  point  of  death,  and  a  messenger 
has  been  sent  to  seek  counsel  from  the  Delphic  oracle : 
Alcestis  schemes  to  intercept  the  messenger  on  his  re- 
turn, is  the  first  to  hear  the  oracle  of  death  by  substi- 
tute, and  that  instant  makes  the  irrevocable  vow  that 
the  substitute  shall  be  herself.  In  reference  to  Pheres, 
Alfieri  brings  out  the  beautiful  point  that  the  old  father, 
on  the  very  brink  of  the  grave,  is  bound  to  his  equally 
aged  wife  by  the  same  obligation  which  binds  Admetus 
and  Alcestis  :  but  for  this,  or  if  Death  would  take  both, 
how  gladly  would  he  have  been  the  victim  !  The  diffi- 
culty of  this  reconstruction  is  with  the  personality  of 
Admetus ;  it  is  hard  to  give  tragic  dignity  to  one  who 
is  forced  by  the  action  into  so  passive  a  position,  helpless 
recipient  of  sacrifices  made  without  his  knowledge  by 
others.  Through  a  succession  of  powerful  scenes  Ad- 
metus is  tossed  from  passion  to  passion ;  Alcestis  dying 
has  to  rally  her  powers  to  strengthen  her  husband  in  the 
living  that  is  harder  to  him  than  death.  When  Hercules 
enters,  Alcestis  has  not  yet  breathed  her  last :  the  hero 
orders  her  couch  to  be  transported  into  a  neighboring 
temple  while  he  essays  the  task  of  salvation.  Admetus, 
already  on  the  verge  of  distraction,  misunderstands  the 
absence  of  the  body ;  he  seeks  to  stab  himself,  and  then, 
held  back  by  main  force,  he  utters  an  oath  that  no  food 

[359] 


COMPARATIVE  READING 

shall  pass  his  lips  —  the  oath  shall  be  as  irrevocable  as  it 
is  impossible  for  Alcestis  ever  to  return  to  this  earth ! 
Hercules  enters  with  a  veiled  woman,  whom  he  offers  to 
his  friend  as  another  Alcestis.  The  figure  behind  the 
veil  hears  the  wild  protests  against  the  possibility  of  an 
equal  for  Alcestis,  hears  repeated  the  terms  of  the 
strange  oath.  Then  the  veil  is  lifted,  and  the  tumultu- 
ous happiness  ensues.  The  Italian  dramatist  has  at- 
tained his  purpose :  but  meanwhile  the  whole  signifi- 
cance of  Euripides'  story  has  been  changed,  and  the 
drama  has  been  made  into  a  character  problem. 

'Twas  all  the  work 
Of  the  Celestials.    Them  it  pleased,  Admetus, 
That  thou  shouldst  unto  death  be  sick,  that  thus 
Free  course  might  to  Alcestis'  noble  virtue 
Be  given ;  and  it  also  pleased  the  Gods 
That  thou,  beUeving  she  was  dead,  shouldst  show 
Thy  love  immense  by  that  most  fearful  oath 
That  thou  wouldst  not  survive  her.^ 

From  William  Morris,  as  might  be  expected,  comes  a 
most  original  and  powerful  version  of  the  Alcestis  Story. 
At  first  indeed  it  might  seem  that  the  difference  between 
this  and  the  other  versions  was  only  the  difference  be- 
tween epic  and  dramatic  form.  Classical  drama  is  shut 
up  to  the  presentation  of  a  single  final  situation ;  in  epic 
narrative  it  is  natural  to  go  back  to  the  beginning  of 
things.  So  in  this  case  :  we  have  related  at  length  the 
first  coming  of  the  divine  guest  to  the  house  of  Admetus ; 
we  have  further  —  what  does  not  appear  in  Euripides' 
play  even  in  allusion,  but  is  known  from  other  sources  — 

'  From  the  translation  of  E.  A.  Bowring  (below,  page  483). 
[360] 


THE  ALCESTIS  GROUP 

the  strange  wooing  of  Alcestis,  who,  in  accordance  with 
an  oracle,  may  be  won  only  by  a  suitor  driving  to  fetch 
her  in  a  chariot  drawn  by  lions  and  wild  boars.  But  in 
reality  the  difference  goes  far  beyond  form.  The  centre 
of  gravity  of  the  whole  story  has  been  shifted :  the 
dominant  motive  is  changed,  and,  when  we  come  to  the 
crisis  of  the  action,  we  are  made  to  see  that  the  self- 
sacrificing  spirit  even  of  an  Alcestis  is  an  idea  that  ad- 
mits of  enhancement. 

The  foundation  upon  which  the  whole  story  rests  is 
the  love  of  Apollo  for  Admetus,  of  an  immortal  god  for 
a  mortal :  it  seems  natural  for  the  god  to  seek  for  his 
friend  the  supreme  gift  of  immortality.  But  this  idea 
clashes  with  what  is  a  fundamental  thought  running 
through  the  poetry  of  William  Morris  —  the  idea  that 
death  is  the  great  sweetener  and  quickener  of  life.  The 
House  of  the  Wolfings  has  this  for  its  main  motive.  An 
immortal  loves  a  mortal  warrior,  and  when  danger 
comes  gives  him  the  enchanted  garment  that  will  ward 
off  death ;  as  he  wears  it  in  the  battle  he  finds  himself 
losing  his  manhood,  he  feels  himself  more  and  more  sun- 
dered from  his  fellows  who  are  nobly  staking  their  lives 
on  every  stroke ;  finally  he  casts  off  the  enchantment 
and  dies  with  glory,  the  wood-nymph  vainly  lamenting 
the  impassable  gulf  that  must  separate  mortal  and  im- 
mortal. In  the  Earthly  Paradise  the  ode  to  March  gives 
clear  expression  to  the  idea  :  it  has  sung  the  joy  of  being 
alive  at  this  beginning  of  Spring,  and  proceeds  — 

Ah,  what  begetteth  all  this  storm  of  bhss 
But  Death  himself,  who  crying  solemnly, 
E'en  from  the  heart  of  sweet  Forgetfulness, 
[361] 


COMPARATIVE  READING 

Bids  us  "Rejoice,  lest  pleasureless  ye  die. 
Within  a  little  time  must  yc  go  by. 
Stretch  forth  your  open  hands,  and  while  ye  live 
Take  all  the  gifts  that  Death  and  Life  may  give." 

So  in  the  present  story,  Apollo  desires  to  give  the  gift  of 
immortal  life :  but  for  Admetus  to  receive  the  gift  will 
it  mean  gain  or  loss  ? 

In  melodious  flow  of  verse  we  have  described  the 
strange  experience  of  a  god  in  contact  with  the  life  of  this 
lower  earth.  Apollo  yearns  for  the  beauty  of  this  new 
world,  yet  realizes  that  he  cannot  ''feel  the  woes  and 
ways  of  man,"  nor  enter  into  the  cares  of  mortals. 

Why  will  ye  toil  and  take  such  care 

For  children's  children  yet  unborn, 

And  garner  store  of  strife  and  scorn 

To  gain  a  scarce-remembered  name. 

Cumbered  with  lies  and  soiled  with  shame  ? 

And  if  the  gods  care  not  for  you. 

What  is  this  folly  ye  must  do 

To  win  some  mortal's  feeble  heart  ? 

0  fools  !  when  each  man  plays  his  part, 

And  heeds  his  fellow  little  more 

Than  these  blue  waves  that  kiss  the  shore 

Take  heed  of  how  the  daisies  grow. 

Yet  Apollo  gives  to  his  host  and  friend  all  that  he 
desires.  He  listens  with  eager  and  bright  visage  when 
Admetus  tells  his  tale  of  love  and  despair :  Apollo  can 
put  on  his  godship  and  work  the  miracle  that  wins 
Alcestis  for  his  friend.  But  the  unnoticed  slight  of 
Diana  in  the  wedding  festivities  brings  a  portent  of 
horror  at  the  moment  Admetus  is  entering  the  bridal 

[362] 


THE  ALCESTIS  GROUP 

chamber.  It  must  not  be  supposed  that  Admetus  shows 
any  cowardice  at  this  point :  unarmed  as  he  is  he  hfts 
bare  hands  against  the  monster,  but  is  waved  back  by  a 
sign  from  Alcestis  —  she  is  in  no  danger  unless  he  in- 
terferes, for  the  purpose  of  the  monster  is  not  to  slay  but 
to  separate.  Admetus  can  only  "  lie  like  a  scourged 
hound"  outside  the  threshold  until  morning,  when  he 
can  invoke  the  assistance  of  his  divine  herdsman,  who 
listens  to  the  story  — 

As  one  who  notes  a  curious  instrument 
Working  against  the  maker's  own  intent. 

Admetus  is  becoming  more  and  more  dependent  upon 
his  supernatural  comrade,  more  and  more  separated 
from  ordinary  men.  And  when  the  year  of  Apollo's 
servitude  comes  to  an  end,  he  takes  leave  of  his  friend 
with  a  hint  of  yet  a  greater  gift  that  may  be  possible, 
if  he  shall  be  summoned  in  the  hour  of  need.  When 
Apollo  is  gone,  Admetus  ''seems  to  have  some  share  in 
the  godhead  he  had  harbored"  ;  war,  fame,  the  ordinary 
ambitions  of  mortal  men,  have  no  incitement  for  him ; 
a  vague  hope  gleaming  before  his  eyes  makes  Admetus 
great-hearted  and  wise,  and  he  rules  as  in  a  golden  age  of 
bliss  like  the  careless  bliss  of  the  gods. 

But  the  crisis  comes,  and  Admetus  finds  death  staring 
him  in  the  face.  We  can  see  the  change  which  time  and 
association  with  the  immortal  have  wrought  in  Admetus. 
Fresh  from  the  winning  of  Alcestis  his  words  of  her  had 
been :  — 

A  little  time  of  love,  then  fall  asleep 
Together,  while  the  crown  of  love  we  keep. 
[363  1 


COMPARATIVE  READING 

How  different  it  is  now ! 

Love,  'twixt  thee  and  me 
A  film  has  come,  and  I  am  fainting  fast : 
And  now  om*  ancient  happy  Hfe  is  past ; 
For  either  this  is  death's  dividing  hand, 
And  all  is  done,  or  if  the  shadowy  land 
I  yet  escape,  full  surely  if  I  Uve 
The  god  with  life  some  other  gift  will  give, 
And  change  me  imto  thee.  .  .  . 
Alas,  my  love  !  that  thy  too  loving  heart 
Nor  wath  my  life  or  death  can  have  a  part. 
0  cruel  words  !  yet  death  is  cruel  too  : 
Stoop  down  and  kiss  me,  for  I  yearn  for  you 
E'en  as  the  autumn  yearneth  for  the  sun. 
0  love,  a  little  time  we  have  been  one, 
And  if  we  now  are  twain,  weep  not  therefore. 

But  there  is  the  token  which  is  to  summon  Apollo  :  the 
arrows  are  burned  in  incense,  and  amid  the  cloudy  vapor 
husband  and  wife  lie  side  by  side  awaiting  the  god,  who 
comes  to  them  as  if  in  dream.  He  tells  the  oracle  of 
conditioned  escape  from  death :  but  there  is  now  a 
strange  addition  to  the  conditions. 

For  whoso  dieth  for  thee  must  believe 
That  thou  with  shame  that  last  gift  wilt  receive, 
And  strive  henceforward  with  forgetfulnesa 
The  honied  draught  of  thy  new  life  to  bless. 
Nay,  and  moreover  such  a  glorious  heart 
Who  loves  thee  well  enough  with  life  to  part 
But  for  thy  love,  with  life  must  lose  love  too, 
Which  e'en  when  wrapped  about  in  weeds  of  woe 
Is  godhke  life  indeed  to  such  an  one. 

That  which  makes  a  difficulty  for  the  ordinary  version 
of  Alcestis'  sacrifice  here  finds  recognition  in  the  defini- 

[364] 


THE  ALCESTIS  GROUP 

tion  of  the  sacrifice  itself ;  further,  beyond  the  giving  up 
of  life  for  Admetus  is  opened  up  a  higher  sacrifice  still 
—  to  give  up  love  with  life,  that  utter  fidelity  may  be 
maintained. 

But  how  is  all  this  to  be  worked  out  in  the  progress  of 
the  story  ?  To  Admetus  the  words  of  the  god  ''seemed 
to  cleave  all  hope  as  with  a  sword" ;  not  for  a  single 
moment  does  his  mind  entertain  the  thought  of  such 
a  sacrifice.  — 

On  the  world  no  look  Admetus  cast, 

But  peacefully  turned  round  unto  the  wall 

As  one  who  knows  that  quick  death  must  befall. 

Alcestis,  lying  beside  him,  misunderstands  this  gesture 
of  silent  despair,  and  thinks  he  is  waiting  for  her  to  do 
her  part  —  waiting,  for  of  course  no  man  could  ask  in 
words  such  a  sacrifice.  This  momentary  misunder- 
standing makes  the  strange  conditions  of  the  oracle 
possible.  Wild  thoughts  pass  through  the  brain  of  Al- 
cestis :  her  love  is  killed,  but  her  wifely  fidelity  is  left. 

Ah,  how  I  trusted  him  !  what  love  was  mine  ! 

How  sweet  to  feel  his  arms  about  me  twine, 

And  my  heart  beat  with  his  !  what  wealth  of  bliss 

To  hear  his  praises !  all  to  come  to  this, 

That  now  I  durst  not  look  upon  his  face, 

Lest  in  my  heart  that  other  thing  have  place. 

That  which  I  knew  not,  that  which  men  call  hate. 

0  me,  the  bitterness  of  God  and  fate  ! 
A  little  time  ago  we  two  were  one  ; 

1  had  not  lost  him  though  his  life  was  done. 
For  still  was  he  in  me  —  but  now  alone 

Through  the  thick  darkness  must  my  soul  make  moan, 
[365] 


COMPARATIVE  READING 

For  I  must  die :  how  can  I  live  to  bear 

An  empty  heart  about,  the  nurse  of  fear  ? 

How  can  I  Hve  to  die  some  other  tide, 

And,  dying,  hear  my  loveless  name  outcried 

About  the  portals  of  that  weary  land 

Whereby  my  shadowy  feet  should  come  to  stand. 

With  morning  Admetus  rises  from  his  bed  in  full  vigor  • 
Alcestis  lies  dead.  Yet,  in  the  surrendering  her  soul  to 
the  process  of  dying,  before  the  final  moment  had  come, 
it  seems  that  the  cloud  of  misunderstanding  had  lifted, 
and  Alcestis  had  realized  the  truth  as  to  her  husband. 

Yet  still,  as  though  that  longed-for  happiness 
Had  come  again  her  faithful  heart  to  bless. 
Those  white  lips  smiled,  unwrinkled  was  her  brow, 
But  of  her  eyes  no  secrets  might  he  know, 
For,  hidden  by  the  lids  of  ivory. 
Had  they  beheld  that  death  a-drawing  nigh. 

What  then  is  to  be  the  end  of  the  story?  There  is 
no  Hercules  to  intervene.  Admetus,  escaping  death, 
moves  among  his  subjects  as  a  god.  There  is  reverence 
for  Alcestis  also,  yet  it  is  but  like  the  silence  in  midst  of 
the  feast  when  there  is  memory  of  slain  heroes. 

But  Time,  who  slays  so  many  a  memory, 
Brought  hers  to  light,  the  short-lived  loving  Queen ; 
And  her  fair  soul,  as  scent  of  flowers  unseen, 
Sweetened  the  turmoil  of  long  centuries. 
For  soon,  indeed.  Death  laid  his  hand  on  these, 
The  shouters  round  the  throne  upon  that  day. 
And  for  Admetus,  he,  too,  went  his  way, 
Though  if  he  died  at  all  I  cannot  tell  ; 
But  either  on  the  earth  he  ceased  to  dwell ; 
Or  else,  oft  born  again,  had  many  a  name. 
[  366  ]  . 


THE  ALCESTIS  GROUP 

Such  immortality  as  a  god  could  bestow  fades,  at  best, 
into  a  cloudy  tradition.  The  immortality  which  a  self- 
sacrificing  death  has  won  for  Alcestis  lasts  in  the  hearts 
of  men  as  long  as  poetry  shall  endure. 

The  Golden  Legend  presents  an  analogous  story  in 
Christian  surroundings.  We  have,  not  exactly  a  wife 
dying  for  her  husband  and  king,  but  a  maiden,  in  the 
end  to  become  wife,  offering  herself  for  her  feudal  lord 
and  benefactor.  And  the  essence  of  the  story  is  pre- 
served :  in  real  life  all  around  us  women  are  giving  their 
lives  for  those  they  love,  but  what  makes  the  individual- 
ity of  the  story  we  are  considering  is  the  formal  compact 
to  die,  which  raises  the  difficult  question  of  the  accept- 
ance of  such  a  compact  by  him  whom  it  is  intended  to 
save.  What  makes  the  distinction  of  the  present  ver- 
sion is  that  the  poet  has  plunged  his  story  into  the  very 
heart  of  the  Middle  Ages.  The  essential  incidents  of 
Elsie  and  Prince  Henry  make  only  a  fraction  of  the 
whole  poem ;  the  rest  is  filled  with  the  institutions  and 
incidents  and  sentiments  of  mediaeval  life,  with  all  its 
mysticism  and  otherworldliness.  The  poem  is  like  a 
work  of  art  made  up  of  a  small  picture  in  the  centre,  and 
around  it  copious  scroll  and  border  and  framing,  all  of  it 
harmonious  and  suggestive.  Only  when  we  have  satu- 
rated ourselves  with  the  mediaeval  atmosphere  of  the 
poem  does  the  story  which  is  its  kernel  cease  to  seem 
forced  and  unreal. 

The  form  of  the  poem  is  interesting.  It  might  be 
called  a  Wandering  Drama,  in  which  the  epic  and 
dramatic  spirit  seem  blended.  The  whole  of  the  poem 
is,  formally,  cast  in  dialogue,  and  thus  far  is  dramatic. 

[367] 


COMPARATIVE  READING 

But  in  place  of  the  single  fixed  scene,  or  interchange  of  a 
few  fixed  scenes,  usual  in  drama,  we  find  the  incidents 
dispersed  in  a  succession  of  scenes,  especially  those  of 
the  long  journey  to  Salerno,  which  suggest  the  progres- 
sion of  epic  movement. 

The  prologue  strikes  the  keynote  of  the  whole  poem. 
We  have  Strasburg  Cathedral  —  itself  a  mediaeval 
poem;  round  its  famous  spire  tempest  is  raging,  and, 
as  part  of  the  tempest,  Lucifer  and  his  demon  hosts  are 
seeking  to  tear  down  and  destroy.  It  is  in  vain :  the 
sacred  bells  are  sounding  their  protective  spells ;  and  the 
rhythm  of  the  chimes  is  beautifully  made  to  suggest 
another  poetic  glory  of  medisevalism  —  the  great  Latin 
Hymns.  This  starting-point  of  Lucifer  and  his  hosts 
prepares  us  for  the  transformation  that  is  to  be  made  in 
the  story  we  are  tracing;  the  dominant  note  will  no 
longer  be  the  sacrifice  of  an  Alcestis,  but  the  temptation 
of  an  Admetus.  The  Golden  Legend  falls  into  the  class 
of  stories  of  which  Faust  is  the  great  type  :  what  it  gives 
us  is  The  Temptation  of  Prince  Henry. 

The  opening  of  the  action  presents  a  noble  person- 
ality brought  to  face  extinction  of  life  in  its  mid  career, 
with  the  slow  agony  of  hopeless  disease.  No  oracle  is 
required ;  the  remedy  of  blood  flowing  from  a  willing 
maiden's  veins  is  scarcely  an  exaggeration  of  the  strange 
nostrums  of  mediaeval  medicine.  But  this  exists  simply 
as  a  piece  of  passive  knowledge  in  the  brain  of  Prince 
Henry.  The  movement  commences  when  Lucifer  ap- 
pears, in  the  garb  of  a  travelling  physician,  and  offers  the 
sufferer  his  wonderful  catholicon :  this  is  the  Arabic 
Alcohol,  the  artificial  life  which,  while  the  spell  lasts, 

[368] 


THE  ALCESTIS  GROUP 

fills  the  human  frame  with  fullest  vigor.  There  is  of 
course  the  reaction,  with  its  shame  and  penance ;  but 
meanwhile  the  momentary  taste  of  full  vitality  in  the 
midst  of  decrepitude  has  brought  up  that  thought  of  a 
cure  from  the  depths  of  Henry's  consciousness,  and 
made  it  a  persistent  idea.  Now  the  other  side  of  the 
action  is  presented.  By  his  disease  an  outcast  from  so- 
ciety, the  Prince  is  received  in  a  humble  country  house- 
hold, — 

A  holy  family,  that  make 

Each  meal  a  Supper  of  the  Lord.  — 

Elsie,  daughter  of  that  family,  is  at  the  moment  of 
adolescent  life  at  which  childlikeness  mingles  with 
deepening  womanhood,  a  time  when  the  erotic  and  the 
spiritual  influences  are  indistinguishably  blended.  The 
food  on  which  her  spirit  is  fed  is  the  exquisite  sacred 
legends  of  the  Middle  Ages  —  stories  of  the  Monk 
Felix,  of  the  Master  of  the  Flowers ;  she  has  visions  and 
strange  dreams ;  what  to  others  are  distant  objects  of 
faith  are  to  her  near  realities.  It  is  a  fine  stroke  of 
poetic  art  that  the  first  proposal  of  the  sacrifice  of  life 
—  which  to  the  critical  reader  is  the  great  crux  in  the 
construction  of  the  story  —  is  made  to  slip  from  the 
lip  of  Elsie  as  a  simple  matter  of  course. 

Gottlieb.  —  Unless 

Some  maiden,  of  her  own  accord, 

Offers  her  life  for  the  life  of  her  lord, 

And  is  willing  to  die  in  his  stead. 
Elsie.  I  will ! 

It  all  seems  quite  natural  to  the  simple  girl,  living  in  her 
atmosphere  of  otherworldliness. 

2b  [369] 


COMPARATIVE  READING 

The  Saints  are  dead,  the  Martyrs  dead, 
And  Mary,  and  our  Lord ;  and  I 
Would  follow  in  humility 
The  way  bj^  them  illumined  ! .  .  . 
Christ  died  for  me,  and  shall  not  I 
Be  willing  for  my  Prince  to  die  ? 

Later  on  Henry  says  to  her :  — 

To  me  the  thought  of  death  is  terrible. 

Having  such  hold  on  life.     To  thee  it  is  not 

So  much  even  as  the  lifting  of  a  latch ; 

Only  a  step  into  the  open  air 

Out  of  a  tent  already  luminous 

With  light  that  shines  through  its  transparent  walls  ! 

Meanwhile  Prince  Henry,  struggling  against  the  persist- 
ent idea  of  maiden  sacrifice,  has  sought  to  purge  his  soul 
by  aid  of  the  Confessional,  the  great  fountain-head  of  all 
mediaeval  ethics.  But  Lucifer  has  usurped  the  place  of 
the  absent  priest :  with  the  authoritative  casuistry  of 
the  Church  the  temptation  is  transformed  into  a  sanc- 
tioned duty.  The  difficult  first  step  in  a  story  of  temp- 
tation is  won  :  not  the  purposing  of  the  deed,  but  the  en- 
tertaining of  the  idea.  Henry  at  the  end  of  the  action 
declares  he  had  never  meant  more  than  to  put  the  girl's 
courage  to  the  proof  :  we  take  his  word  only  so  far  as  to 
understand  that  he  dallied  with  the  temptation,  letting 
himself  drift  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  goal,  in  his  weak- 
ness waiting  irresolute  until  some  shock  should  give 
him  vigor  to  accept  or  forever  renounce. 

We  now  have  the  long  journey  to  Salerno,  the  middle 
phase  of  the  action,  which,  in  stories  of  this  type,  makes 
the  main  bulk  of  the  poem.     Two  purposes  are  being 

[370] 


THE  ALCESTIS  GROUP 

served.  There  is  the  mutual  influence  of  the  leading 
personages :  by  contact  with  saintly  purity  Henry  is 
being  lifted  out  of  his  selfishness ;  the  simple  Elsie  by 
daily  intercourse  with  a  cultured  mind  is  being  broad- 
ened and  elevated.  And  the  picture  is  being  loaded 
with  mediaeval  detail,  necessary  to  make  the  proper  at- 
mosphere of  the  story.  We  have  cathedrals,  supreme 
gift  of  the  Middle  Ages  to  art ;  quaint  mediaeval  sights 
and  customs;  minnesingers  and  crusaders;  miracle 
plays  that  read  the  most  naive  realism  into  sacred  scenes, 
mystic  expositions,  and  astrological  speculations.  We 
have  the  monastery  and  convent,  with  their  strangely 
contrasted  inhabitants  :  here  lazy  monks,  with  sensual 
pleasures  and  festal  hilarity ;  there  the  sacred  artist  of 
the  scriptorium,  the  abbot  with  his  sense  of  awful  re- 
sponsibility, the  broken  lives  seeking  the  truce  and  rest 
of  the  cloister.  Swiss  scenes,  with  dances  of  death 
and  devil's  bridges,  lead  to  scenes  of  Italy,  as  the 
blessed  Mary's  land,  or  to  the  sea,  made  spiritually  sug- 
gestive. We  have  processions  of  pilgrims,  with  their 
strange  mingling  of  faith  and  adventure ;  scholasticism, 
with  its  fighting  doctors  and  challenges  to  interminable 
disputing  over  hair-splitting  trifles.  And  as  a  link  bind- 
ing all  together  we  have  Lucifer,  with  all  the  vim  and 
rollicking  humor  of  the  mediaeval  devil,  forever  ap- 
pearing in  new  forms,  making  himself  all  things  to  all 
men,  yet  keeping  a  wary  eye  upon  the  two  distinguished 
victims  he  is  invisibly  escorting  to  Salerno. 

Here  the  crisis  is  reached.  It  is  Lucifer  in  disguise  as 
a  Doctor  of  Salerno  who  receives  the  travellers ;  to  him 
Prince  Henry  makes  his  hesitating  explanation,  irreso- 

[3711 


COMPARATIVE  READING 

lute  to  the  last.  By  quick  movement  Elsie  is  conveyed 
within.  Then  only  does  the  soul  of  Henry  come  to  it- 
self :  the  shock  of  sudden  loss  has  brought  the  burst  of 
passionate  strength  with  which  he  breaks  through  the 
door,  struggles  with  the  demon,  —  and,  in  the  scuffle, 
accidentally  touches  the  sacred  bones  of  St.  Matthew ! 
Mediaeval  faith  in  relics  takes  the  place  of  the  labors  of 
Hercules.  The  wedded  bliss  which  opens  the  other  ver- 
sions makes  the  close  of  this.  Last  of  all,  the  epilogue 
supplements  the  prologue,  and  brings  the  miscellaneous 
matter  of  the  poem  into  unity  again  as  a  story  of  tempta- 
tion. It  is  now  the  Recording  Angels  who  are  seen  as- 
cending to  heaven.  The  Angel  of  Good  Deeds  closes 
his  book  with  every  record ;  the  Angel  of  Evil  Deeds 
keeps  his  book  open  to  the  last  moment  of  day,  in  hope 
that  repentance  may  erase  the  record,  as  here  it  has  been 
erased.  Beneath  them  the  great  agent  of  temptation  is 
seen  as  a  gigantic  shadow  sweeping  into  the  night. 

It  is  Lucifer, 

The  son  of  mystery ; 

And  since  God  suffers  him  to  be, 

He,  too,  is  God's  minister, 

And  labours  for  some  good 

By  us  not  understood  ! 

I  pass  to  another  group  of  works  for  comparative 
reading,  this  time  with  only  brief  suggestions.  I  would 
put  together  the  Bacchanals  of  Euripides,  the  biblical 
Ecclesiastes,  the  Ruhaiyat  of  Omar  Khayyam,  the 
Legend  of  Temperance  which  makes  the  second  book 
of   Spenser's   Faerie   Queene,    and    Tennyson's   poem 

[372] 


THE  BACCHANALS  GROUP 

entitled  The  Vision  of  Sin.  Four  out  of  the  five  have 
an  obvious,  but  somewhat  superficial,  common  ground 
in  the  topic  of  intemperance,  or  at  least  the  wine  we 
associate  with  intemperance ;  this  however  is  lacking 
in  Ecclesiastes.  To  get  a  basis  of  interrelationship  we 
must  go  deeper. 

The  Bacchanals,  as  it  is  one  of  the  most  splendid,  is 
also  one  of  the  most  difficult  of  poems.  In  the  fine 
translations  of  Way  and  of  Milman  it  is  easy  for  the 
English  reader  to  appreciate  the  beauty  of  the  lyrics, 
the  magnificent  stage  spectacle,  the  horror  of  the  cata- 
strophe. But  what  is  the  general  drift  and  significance  ? 
We  recognize  the  strange  feature  of  ancient  life  by  which 
the  excitement  of  vinous  elation  is  deified  in  Bacchus, 
and  here  surrounded  with  all  the  adjuncts  of  religion ; 
over  against  this,  in  Pentheus,  we  have  the  conserva- 
tive morality  which  resists  excess.  But  what  are  we 
to  say  as  to  the  relation  between  these  two  factors? 
It  is  vain  to  say,  as  is  sometimes  urged,  that  the  repre- 
sentative of  temperance  departs  from  his  position  when 
he  consents  to  accompany  the  stranger  to  the  Msenad 
revels ;  it  is  equally  vain  to  make  Agave  the  heroine  of 
the  play,  and  in  her  see  intoxication  awakening  to  the 
havoc  it  has  unconsciously  committed.  Careful  read- 
ing of  the  scenes  makes  clear  that  the  consent  to  accom- 
pany Dionysus  is  not  a  slipping  from  principle,  but  a 
mesmeric  infatuation,  which  the  all-powerful  god  has 
been  holding  all  the  time  over  Pentheus  until  the  resist- 
ance to  his  godship  is  complete.  And  in  the  soliloquy 
of  the  prologue  Bacchus  himself  tells  us  that  the  in- 
toxicating spell  is  being  sent  by  his  omnipotence  upon 

[373] 


COMPARATIVE  READING 

Agave  and  her  sisters,  in  revenge  for  their  sHght  of  his 
claims  to  divinity.  The  explanation  of  the  action  is  to 
be  sought  in  the  due  conception  of  what  tragedy  means. 
The  sinner  overwhelmed  with  terrible  retribution,  this 
is  not  tragic  enough  to  satisfy  completely  Greek 
tragedy.  The  supreme  tragedy  is  when  an  (Edipus, 
wise  and  pious,  is  led  by  his  wisdom  and  piety  into 
moral  horrors ;  when  an  Antigone  must  choose  between 
unfaithfulness  to  the  state  and  unfaithfulness  to  the 
family  tie ;  when  an  Orestes  must  either  be  the  slayer 
of  a  mother  or  a  recusant  to  the  avenging  of  a 
father,  when  he  obeys  the  oracle  of  Deity  only  to  be- 
come thereby  the  helpless  victim  of  Destiny.  So  in  the 
present  case  :  the  action  of  the  Bacchanals  brings  Relig- 
ion and  Morality  into  deadly  opposition,  and  both  are 
involved  in  a  common  ruin.  The  tragedy  of  this  play 
is  the  dramatization  of  a  moral  chaos. 

From  this  point  of  view  we  can  feel  a  certain  rela- 
tionship between  the  literary  works  of  our  group.  In 
Ecclesiastes  also  there  is  the  thought  of  a  moral  chaos : 
to  the  eye  of  wisdom  all  attempts  to  read  meaning 
into  the  universe  break  down,  and  ''all  things  are 
vanity."  The  difference  is  that  here  the  thinker  takes 
sides  with  God ;  although  in  the  appearance  of  things 
the  righteous  equally  with  the  wicked  is  the  victim  of 
an  inscrutable  Providence,  yet  without  question  it  is 
well  with  those  who  fear  God.  In  the  Bacchanals  sense 
pleasure,  intensified  to  ecstasy  and  deified,  was  seen  in 
antagonism  with  morality,  with  a  resultant  moral 
chaos.  In  the  poem  of  Omar  Khayyam  sense  excite- 
ment on  its  purely  mental  side  is  made  the  one  self- 

[374] 


THE  BACCHANALS  GROUP 

sufficing  certainty  of  the  universe;  in  contrast  with 
this  ideas  of  the  Divine  are  but  hypothesis,  moral 
and  material  interests  are  a  delusion.  In  Tennyson's 
Vision  we  have  sense  excitements,  which  are  but  for  a 
moment,  and  an  awful  Divine  purity  which  is  eternal. 
The  blank  verse  making  the  main  thread  of  the  poem 
is  at  two  points  interrupted  by  verse  of  a  different  order  : 
first,  we  have  the  whirl  of  passion  presented  lyrically 
with  the  underlying  image  of  the  fountain;  later, 
stanzas  of  cynical  song  express  the  broken  debauchee's 
consciousness  of  a  hollow  life.  Thus  sense,  intensified 
to  passion,  is  made  to  react  in  exhausted  sense  craving 
for  passion ;  this  is  set  over  against  eternal  Divine 
purity,  with  a  forlorn  possibility  of  hope  for  the  ruined 
life  heard  in  a  tongue  which  no  man  can  understand. 
In  Spenser's  poem  we  have  temperance  and  intemper- 
ance in  all  their  possible  forms.  But  the  scope  of  the 
work  is  entirely  changed :  we  have  no  longer  question- 
ings of  the  sum  of  things  and  the  meaning  of  the  uni- 
verse, but  the  struggle  of  everyday  life.  Universal 
Pleasure,  on  the  one  hand  held  in  restraint,  on  the 
other  hand  militant  against  Unrestraint,  is  made  a 
field  for  the  development  of  Good. 

Or  the  relationship  of  the  different  works  may  be  put 
more  simply,  in  the  light  of  their  literary  form.  The 
Bacchanals  is  tragedy  of  the  most  tragic  order :  a 
chaos  of  the  universe  is  seen,  with  Deity  in  conflict 
with  morality.  Ecclesiasies  is  philosophic  meditation : 
the  chaos  of  the  universe  is  recognized,  but  the  thinker 
takes  refuge  with  God.  The  Ruhaiyat  is  a  lyrical 
meditation :   exalted  consciousness  of  the  chaos  in  the 

[375] 


COMPARATIVE  READING 

universe  is  a  jubilant  certainty.  Tennyson's  poem  is 
a  Vision :  Deity  and  Moral  Order  are  beheld  in  har- 
mony, with  a  fringe  of  mystery  extending  into  an  in- 
finite future.  The  Legend  is  an  epic  poem  :  problems 
of  life  have  no  place  here,  but  —  in  the  spirit  of  modern 
pragmatism  —  the  universe  is  seen  in  the  process  of 
making,  and  the  struggle  is  to  reconstruct  it  for  the 
better. 

From  the  Semitic  and  the  Aryan  literatures  come 
two  poems  which  have  the  same  title,  The  Song  of 
Songs,  and  the  same  character  as  songs  of  the  hone}^- 
moon.  For  the  outer  form  of  the  Hebrew  Song  of 
Songs  I  assume  the  setting  of  the  poem  as  it  is  edited 
in  the  Modern  Reader's  Bible.  By  the  Indian  Song  of 
Songs  I  mean  what  mediating  interpretation  has  given 
us  under  that  title  in  the  poetry  of  Sir  Edwin  Arnold. 

The  Hebrew  Song  of  Songs  is  transparently  simple 
in  its  human  interest.  It  is  not  —  in  the  arrange- 
ment indicated  above  —  a  continuous  drama,  but  a 
series  of  lyric  idyls ;  and  underlying  these  is  a  beautiful 
story.  King  Solomon,  visiting  the  royal  vineyards 
upon  Mount  Lebanon,  comes  by  surprise  upon  the  fair 
Shulammite  maiden,  who  is  sister  to  the  keepers  of  the 
vineyards.  She  flees  in  terror ;  Solomon,  smitten  with 
her  beauty,  wooes  her  in  disguise  as  a  shepherd  of  her 
own  rank  in  hfe,  and  wins  her  love ;  then  he  comes  in 
royal  state  and  in\dtes  her  to  his  throne ;  they  are 
being  wedded  in  the  royal  palace  at  Jerusalem  as  the 
poem  opens.  Parenthetic  refrains  recur  to  keep 
before  us  the  idea  of  conjugal  love :    the  songs  them- 

[376] 


MINOR  GROUPS 

selves  present  disconnected  snatches  of  the  story. 
We  have  youthful  love  in  its  natural  setting  of  Spring 
scenery,  with  a  humorous  interruption  as  the  harsh 
voices  of  the  Brothers  break  in  with  a  cry  of  foxes  in 
the  vineyard,  and  all  must  run  to  the  rescue.  We  have 
the  dreams  of  the  Bride,  happy  and  troubled  dreams; 
the  raptures  of  the  Bridegroom;  the  journey  in  the 
state  chariot ;  at  the  close,  the  longing  of  the  country 
Bride  for  her  Lebanon  home,  and  the  fresh  surrender  of 
her  heart  to  her  husband  on  the  very  spot  where  first 
she  saw  him.  What  may  be  a  stumbling-block  to  the 
unwary  reader,  the  warmly  colored  picturing  of  personal 
charms,  is  simply  the  unfamiliar  symbolism  of  Oriental 
poetry;  its  riddling  and  conventional  comparisons, 
which,  unlike  western  imagery,  paint  no  pictures  on 
the  imagination,  enable  symbolic  poetry  to  handle 
topics  excluded  from  the  poetry  of  the  west.^  The 
spirit  of  the  Hebrew  poem  is  pure  conjugal  love,  which 
may  be  a  basis  for  a  secondary  and  spiritual  interpre- 
tation, if  spiritual  interpretation  is  required.  The 
purity  is  the  more  strikingly  impressive  as  we  have  here 
the  love  of  heart  for  heart  rising  out  of  an  atmosphere 
of  the  harem  and  Oriental  luxury. 

There  are  threescore  queens, 

And  fourscore  concubines, 

And  virgins  without  number : 
]My  dove,  my  undefiled,  is  but  one ; 

She  is  the  only  one  of  her  mother  ; 

She  is  the  pure  one  of  her  that  bare  her. 

^  The  Introduction  to  the  Song  of  Songs  in  the  Modern  Reader's 
Bible  discusses  this  difficult  matter. 

[377] 


COMPARATIVE  READING 

The  Indian  Song  of  Songs  is  different :  it  is  devo- 
tional poetry,  presenting  an  allegory  of  earthly  and 
heavenly  love,  coming  as  a  spell  of  salvation  for  those 
who  listen.  The  personages  are  divine ;  yet  even  a 
divine  lover  may  lapse  into  longings  for  the  lower  and 
earthly  love.  In  place  of  parenthetic  refrains  we  have 
the  parenthetic  interruptions  of  the  poet  —  always 
in  their  own  special  metre  —  who  makes  the  spiritual 
apphcation  of  all  that  is  told.  Blank  verse  carries 
forward  the  thread  of  narrative ;  the  songs  themselves 
are  in  lyric  measures  that  change  with  every  fluctuation 
of  thought,  the  sense  of  dance  movement  being  never 
lost.  There  is  a  dramatic  background  of  moonlight : 
it  is  only  when  the  weary  night  has  worn  away  and 
clear  morning  breaks  that  the  irresolute  Krishna 
returns  to  his  divine  love.  The  festal  ceremonies  of 
the  now  united  lovers  are  followed  to  their  close ;  the 
English  poet  drops  the  curtain  as  the  nuptial  bower  is 
entered. 

Then  she,  no  more  delaying,  entered  straight ; 
Her  step  a  little  faltered,  but  her  face 
Shone  with  unutterable  quick  love ;  and  —  while 
The  music  of  her  bangles  passed  the  porch  — 
Shame,  which  had  lingered  in  her  downcast  eyes, 
Departed  shamed  .  .  .  and  hke  the  mighty  deep, 
Which  sees  the  moon  and  rises,  all  his  life 
Uprose  to  drink  her  beams. 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  point  out  that  the  compara- 
tive attitude  of  mind  has  application  to  the  most 
diverse  treatments  of  literary  material,  from  the 
simplest  to  the  most  elaborate.     It  is  good  to  read 

[378] 


MINOR  GROUPS 

side  by  side,  where  nothing  is  done  beyond  the  mere 
reading,  such  works  as  Everyman,  in  which  the  naive 
simphcity  of  mediaeval  devotion  rises  to  the  subhme, 
and  the  Pilgrim's  Progress,  in  which  the  same  naive 
simplicity  is  applied  to  the  popular  theology  of  Puri- 
tanism. It  is  good  to  follow  the  story  of  Cleopatra  as 
it  is  shaped  by  three  of  the  greatest  masters  in  poetry  — 
Shakespeare,  Fletcher,  and  Dry  den.  ^  Or  literary  tasks 
of  much  more  extended  scope  offer  themselves.  The 
original  Germanic  stock  in  time  broke  into  two  diverse 
branches,  one  in  central  Europe,  the  other  moving  to 
the  Scandinavian  north-west ;  in  the  freedom  of  float- 
ing poetry  the  common  poetic  inheritance  would 
undergo  widely  different  modifications,  especially  as 
Icelandic  poets  were  largely  cut  off  from  intercourse 
with  their  kindred  in  the  south.  A  great  epic  tradition 
belongs  to  the  original  Germanic  stock,  to  which  our 
nearest  approach  is  the  poem  of  the  Nibelungenlied. 
Of  this  original  material  the  later  German  modifica- 
tion and  the  Norse  modification  have,  in  our  own  day, 
found  two  great  masters  of  reconstruction :  the  one 
has  been  worked  up  by  Wagner  into  the  musical  tetra- 
logy of  the  Nihelung's  Ring,  the  other  in  the  hands  of 
William  Morris  has  become  the  epic  of  Sigurd  the 
Volsung.  The  detailed  study  of  the  original  form,  and 
of  the  two  modern  reconstructions,  would  carry  com- 

1  The  reference  is  to  Dry  den's  All  for  Love,  or  the  World  well  lost, 
and  to  the  tragedy  in  the  works  of  Beaumont  and  Fletcher  entitled 
The  False  One  (of  which  the  exact  authorship  is  doubtful).  The 
authors  of  this  last  play,  in  the  Prologue,  disclaim  common  ground 
with  Shakespeare's  play :  yet  it  makes  an  interesting  side  light, 
so  far  as  Cleopatra  is  concerned. 

[379] 


COMPARATIVE  READING 

parative  reading  to  a  high  degree  of  Uterary  sugges- 
tiveness. 

I  will  add  only  one  word  of  caution,  which  I  should 
wish  to  put  with  all  emphasis  possible.  In  laying 
stress  on  Comparative  Reading  I  have  no  idea  of 
recommending  comparisons  of  merit.  I  am  well  aware 
that  the  current  treatment  of  literature,  whether 
popular  or  formal,  is  full  of  discussions  of  comparative 
excellence,  of  blemishes  and  faults  in  poetry.  For 
myself,  I  hold  the  unfashionable  opinion  that  judicial 
estimates  of  literature  are  the  greatest  of  obstacles  in 
the  way  of  literary  insight.  It  is  easy  enough,  when 
some  element  in  the  literature  we  are  studying  does 
not  fit  in  with  our  personal  tastes,  to  dispose  of  it  as  a 
fault  or  inferiority  in  the  poet.  The  true  course  is  to 
study  further,  until  the  apparent  unharmonious  element 
is  seen  to  modify  our  conception  of  the  whole  scheme, 
and  so  our  taste  has  become  enlarged.  Likes  and  dis- 
likes and  preferences  are  natural  enough  in  application 
to  things  of  art,  as  they  are  natural  in  application  to 
things  of  nature ;  but  we  do  not  in  our  appreciation 
of  flowers,  or  of  landscape,  examine  whether  a  carnation 
or  a  geranium  is  the  higher,  or  pick  out  faults  in  the 
configuration  of  mountain  scenery.  Our  attitude  to 
poetry  should  be  the  same  as  our  attitude  to  nature. 
Only  by  sjmapathy  and  a  receptive  attitude  of  mind 
will  Comparative  Reading  lead  us  to  true  literary 
appreciation. 


[380] 


CHAPTER  VIII 

LITEKARY  ORGANS  OF  PERSONALITY  :    ESSAYS  AND  LYRICS 

LITERATURE  is  both  objective  and  subjective : 
objective,  in  that  poetry  presents  things;  sub- 
jective, in  so  far  as  books  are  the  revelation  of  their 
authors.  The  hterature  with  which  we  have  so  far 
dealt  has  been  mainly  objective  in  its  character,  but 
the  other  type  has  its  place  in  world  Hterature.  The 
tendency,  indeed,  is  to  give  it  too  much  prominence  :  a 
vast  number  more  people  are  interested  in  poets  than  in 
poetry.  The  two  interests  can  be  felicitously  blended  : 
notably  in  the  writings  of  Sainte-Beuve  and  Dowden. 
3ut  if  we  consider  literary  study  in  general,  both 
private  reading  and  formal  education,  it  is  a  matter  of 
regret  that  so  large  a  part  of  it  is  switched  off  the  true 
course  on  to  biographical  and  similar  lines.  It  seems 
to  have  become  an  accepted  canon  that  we  must  know 
about  a  writer,  his  surroundings  and  the  circumstances 
under  which  he  produced  a  work,  before  we  may  get 
at  the  work  itself ;  text-books  of  literature  tend  to  be 
accounts  of  producers,  not  of  products ;  questions  of 
editions  and  textual  details  must  further  intervene 
between  the  reader  and  the  literature  he  wants  to  read. 
Of  course,  there  is  a  place  for  all  these  things  somewhere 
in  the  field  of  scholarship ;   but  the  unbalanced  char- 

[381] 


LITERATURE  OF  PERSONALITY 

acter  of  literary  study  brings  it  about  that  of  those  who 
desire  to  know  hterature  a  large  percentage  are,  by  this 
biographical  and  bibliographical  distraction,  kept  in 
the  outer  precincts  and  never  reach  the  literary  goal  at 
all.  Yet  the  instinct  of  the  general  reader  is  a  sound 
one :  it  is  the  high  function  of  literature  to  bring  us  in 
contact  with  the  best  minds.  But  this  should  be 
sought,  not  through  external  histories,  but  bj^  aid  of 
special  types  of  literature,  consecrated  to  this  purpose 
of  revealing  the  personality  of  authors,  with  a  revela- 
tion that  is  itself  as  literary  as  the  mind  revealed.  And 
these  types  of  literature  are  chiefly  two :  Essays  and 
Lyrics. 

Like  so  many  other  literary  terms,  the  word  "Essay" 
is  used  in  different  senses.  We  even  have  such  a  case 
as  that  of  Locke,  who,  with  a  modesty  veiling  a  sense 
of  achievement,  has  called  a  ponderous  body  of  exact 
science  an  Essay  on  the  Human  Understanding.  But 
the  reader  will  have  no  difficulty  in  distinguishing  the 
more  natural  use  of  the  word.  Precise  definition  is 
not  practicable  for  a  thing  constituted  by  absence  of 
precision.  But  it  is  clear  that  where  a  writer  has 
sought  to  be  exhaustive,  and  has  followed  a  formal  and 
methodical  treatment,  he  will  naturally  call  the  result 
by  some  such  name  as  "treatise."  The  Essay,  in  the 
proper  sense  of  the  term,  has  for  its  central  interest  the 
personality  of  its  author,  and  in  form  it  is  distinguished 
by  perfect  freedom,  with  full  scope  for  thinking  that 
is  tentative  and  fragmentary.  It  is  a  succession  of 
thoughts  upon  a  single  topic :  but  even  the  topic  need 
not   be   a  binding  limitation,  and   the   general  term 

[382] 


THE  ESSAY 

Essay  can  be  stretched  to  include  disconnected 
pensees,  thoughts,  fragments  of  meditation.  The  Essay 
is  the  point  at  which  hterature  approaches  nearest  to 
discursive  conversation. 

The  evolution  of  this  literary  organ  of  personal 
revelation  is  more  easily  traced  in  world  literature  than 
in  any  single  national  field.  We  have  the  Hebraic  root 
of  essay  literature  in  bibhcal  wisdom,  more  especially 
the  Book  of  Ecclesiasticus.  Wisdom  is  the  general 
meditation  upon  life,  before  that  meditation,  becoming 
a  conscious  investigation,  takes  on  formal  method  and 
is  called  philosophy.  Thus  wisdom  starts  naturally 
with  proverbs  and  similar  fragmentary  sayings.  I 
have  traced  elsewhere  ^  the  genesis  in  wisdom  literature 
of  the  essay  out  of  the  primitive  proverb.  First  we 
have  the  reign  of  proverbs,  units  of  thought  in  units 
of  form,  and  collections  of  these.  Then  some  arrange- 
ment comes  in,  so  far  as  to  make  the  proverb  cluster, 
several  proverbs  put  together  under  a  common  topic, 
such  as  the  king,  or  the  fool.  The  topic  is  the  fore- 
shadowing of  the  title  of  the  essay.  The  separate 
proverbs  of  a  cluster  gradually  draw  together,  the 
stiffness  of  the  aphorism  yielding  to  flow  of  style;  in 
the  much  quoted  phrase  of  Stanley,  the  closed  fist 
of  the  Hebrew  gnome  relaxes  into  the  open  palm  of 
Greek  rhetoric.  This  makes  the  essay,  but  even  in 
this  we  may  distinguish  stages :  between  the  essay 
that  is  a  simple  unit,  and  that  into  which  has  come  so 
much  of  organic  form  as  we  express  by  division  into 
paragraphs.     All  this  process  can  be  abundantly  illus- 

*  Literary  Study  of  the  Bible,  pages  298-306. 
[383] 


LITERATURE  OF  PERSONALITY 

trated  within  the  Book  of  Ecclesiasticus.  But  this 
book  has  a  further  interest  for  us :  while  it  is  the  larg- 
est collection  of  wisdom,  yet  it  is  a  collection  made 
entirely  by  one  man,  and  the  underlying  personality 
makes  itself  felt.  In  what  may  be  called  a  preface  we 
are  given  to  understand,  though  in  veiled  language, 
how  the  quiet  scholar  was  at  one  crisis  dragged  into 
the  glare  and  noise  of  public  notoriety,  and  was  won- 
derfully dehvered  after  running  in  danger  of  his  hfe. 
We  can  gather  how  the  whole  of  his  life  is  devoted  to 
the  collecting  of  wisdom  from  others,  and  the  augment- 
ing what  he  gathers  by  his  own  thinking;  how  his 
materials  grow  upon  him,  and  book  is  added  to  book ; 
his  intended  rivulet  becomes  a  sea;  he  is  a  grape- 
gatherer  gleaning  after  other  grape-gatherers ;  when 
he  adds  a  fourth  book,  he  is  filled  as  the  moon  at  the 
full.  There  is  progressive  self -revelation  through  these 
books.  The  first  is  the  general  wisdom  of  the  humanist ; 
the  second  identifies  the  author  with  Israel,  and  wis- 
dom with  the  Law  of  Moses.  At  the  close  of  the 
third  book,  in  a  masterpiece  of  essay  eloquence,  the 
\vTiter  stands  fully  revealed  as  a  Scribe,  profoundly 
conscious  of  the  wisdom  of  leism'e,  separated  by  an 
impassable  barrier  from  the  practical  wisdom  to  which 
"the  handiwork  of  its  craft  is  its  prayer."  As  the  fourth 
book  opens,  we  seem  to  see  advancing  years  in  the 
plaintive  essay  on  the  Burden  of  Life,  and  the  sonnet 
on  Death,  so  acceptable  to  "extreme  old  age"  that  is 
"distracted"  and  "losing  patience."  Further,  if  we 
read  a  little  between  the  lines,  we  seem  to  find  a  con- 
servative thinker  struggling  against  the  growing  scep- 

[  384  ] 


THE  ESSAY 

ticism  all  about  him;  never  himself  swerving  from 
his  firm  faith,  yet  forced  to  modify  from  time  to  time 
his  statement  of  it  as  a  man  accustomed  to  meet 
objectors.  This  miscellany  of  wisdom,  in  fragmentary 
forms,  and  revealing  the  underlying  personality  of  the 
collector,  makes  the  point  of  departure  for  the  coming 
essay  literature.  With  Ecclesiastes  we  are  passing 
beyond  the  essay ;  its  separate  parts  are  drawn  into  a 
unity  by  prologue  and  epilogue,  and  wisdom  is  chang- 
ing into  philosophy.^ 

The  Book  of  Ecclesiasticus  brings  us  naturally  to  the 
great  masterpiece  of  modern  wisdom,  the  Essays  of 
Lord  Bacon.  It  is  only  necessary  to  place  side  by  side 
the  titles  of  essays  in  Ecclesiasticus  as  they  appear  in 
the  Modern  Reader's  Bible,  and  the  titles  of  Bacon's 
essays,  to  show  how  much  there  is  in  common  in  the 
general  scope  of  the  two  works,  though  of  course  the 
books  will  have  other  matter  special  to  their  distinc- 
tive eras. 

Ecclesiasticus  Bacon's  Essays 

True  and  False  Fear— Honour  Of  Truth  — Of   Death  — Re- 

to  Parents  —  On  Meekness  —  venge   —   Of  Adversity   —   Of 

Consideration  for  High  and  Low  Simulation  and  Dissimulation  — 

—  True  and  False  Shame  —  Of  Parents  and  Children  —  Of 
Friendship  —  Household  Pre-  Marriage  and  Single  Life  —  Of 
cepts  —  Adaptation  of  Behav-  Envy  —  Of  Love  —  Of  Boldness 
iour  to  Various  Sorts  of   Men  —  Of  Atheism  —  Of  Counsel  — 

—  Wisdom  and  Government  —  Of  Delays  —  Of  Wisdom  for  a 

1  Part  of  this  paragraph  is  taken  from  my  article  on  I'The  Per- 
sonality of  the  Son  of  Sirach,"  in  The  International  Journal  of  the 
Apocrypha  (January  1907). 

2c  [385] 


LITERATURE  OF  PERSONALITY 


Ecclesiasticus  {Continued) 

Pride  and  True  Greatness  — 
Prosperity  and  Adversity  are 
from  the  Lord  —  Choice  of 
Company  —  NiggardUness  — 
On  Free  Will  —  No  Safety  for 
Sinners  —  On  Taking  Heed  in 
Time  —  Against  Gossip  —  The 
Steadfast  Friend  and  the  Uncer- 
tain —  Retribution  and  Ven- 
geance —  On  the  Tongue  — 
On  Lending  and  Suretiship  — 
On  Health  —  On  Riches  —  On 
Feasting  —  On  Dreams  —  On 
False  Friends  —  On  Counsel  and 
Counsellors  —  On  Disease  and 
Physicians  —  The  Wisdom  of 
Business  and  the  Wisdom  of 
Leisure  —  the  Burden  of  Life 
—  On  Death  —  etc. 


Bacon's  Essays  {Continued) 

Man's  Self —  Of  Seeming  Wise  — 
Of  Friendship  —  Of  Expense  — 
Of  the  True  Greatness  of  King- 
doms and  Estates  —  Of  Regi- 
ment of  Health  —  Of  Suspicion 
—  Of  Discourse  —  Of  Riches  — 
Of  Ambition  —  Of  Nature  in 
Men  —  Of  Custom  and  Educa- 
tion—Of Fortune  — Of  Youth 
and  Age  —  Of  Beauty  —  Of 
Deformity  —  Of  Followers  and 
Friends  —  Of  Studies  —  Of  Fac- 
tion —  Of  Ceremonies  and  Re- 
spects —  Of  Praise  —  Of  Vain- 
Glory  —  Of  Honour  and  Reputa- 
tion —  Of  Anger  —  Of  Vicissitude 
of  Things  —  etc. 


Bacon  represents  the  highest  point  to  which  the  litera- 
ture of  the  essay  has  ever  attained.  And  this  is 
because  of  the  greatness  of  the  personahty  that  is 
revealed.  It  is  altogether  a  mistake  to  exalt  Bacon  as 
the  founder  of  modern  philosophy :  he  is  rather  the 
last  of  the  wise  men,  before  wisdom  has  specialized 
into  philosophy.  His  is  the  wholeness  of  view  that 
belongs  to  what  is  distinctively  wisdom.  Breadth  of 
intellect  in  him  is  balanced  by  depth  of  character  — 
for  the  traditional  "meanness"  of  this  "wisest  and 
brightest"  of  mankind  rests  upon  a  superficial  and 
hostile  interpretation  of  his  conduct  under  peculiarly 
trying  circumstances,  which  disappears  before  modern 

[386] 


THE  ESSAY 

and  fuller  investigations.^  It  is  unnecessary  to  add 
that  in  Bacon  powers  of  expression  are  adequate  to  the 
power  of  thought.  He  knows  how  to  stop  at  the  point 
of  suggestiveness :  he  thus  appears  both  wise  himself 
and  the  cause  of  wisdom  in  others.  In  biblical  wisdom 
a  considerable  proportion  of  the  detailed  sentences  is 
made  up  of  actual  proverbs  which  have  floated  down 
the  ages ;  Bacon  has  no  need  of  this  help,  for  he  has 
the  rare  epigrammatic  faculty  that  can  coin  universal 
proverbs  for  itself. 

On  account  of  the  modifications  which  essay  litera- 
ture was  soon  to  undergo,  very  few  writers  can  be 
classed  as  belonging  to  the  school  of  Bacon.  The 
most  considerable  of  these  is  Owen  Feltham,  whose 
essays  are  entitled  Resolves,  a  title  intended  as  indica- 
tion of  their  close  connection  with  conduct,  and  reflect- 
ing the  eminently  religious  tone  of  Feltham's  writing. 
As  this  once  popular  book  is  not  at  the  present  time  well 
known,  I  may  be  permitted  to  cite  one  of  the  briefer 
and  quainter  essays.  — 

Sanctity  is  a  Sentence  of  Three  Stops 

A  Christian's  voyage  to  heaven  is  a  sentence  of  three  stops : 
comma,  colon,  period.  He  that  repents  is  come  to  the  comma,  and 
begins  to  speak  sweetly  the  language  of  salvation :  but  if  he  leaves 
there,  God  understands  not  such  abrupt  speeches :  sorrow  alone 
cannot  expiate  a  pirate's  robberies:  he  must  both  leave  his  theft, 
and  serve  his  country,  ere  his  prince  will  receive  him  to  favour. 
It  is  "he  that  confesses,  and  forsakes  his  sin,"  that  "shall  find 

*  A  simple  explanation  of  this  matter  will  be  found  in  Dr.  Aldis 
Wright's  Introduction  to  Bacon's  Advancement  of  Learning  (Claren- 
don Press). 

[387] 


LITERATURE  OF  PERSONALITY 

mercy"  :  it  is  his  leaving  his  wickedness,  that  is  as  his  colon ;  and 
carries  him  half  way  to  heaven.  Yet  here  also  is  the  clause  imperfect, 
unless  he  goes  on  to  the  practice  of  righteousness,  which  as  a  period 
knits  up  all,  and  makes  the  sentence  full.  Return  and  penitence 
is  not  sufficient  for  him  that  hath  fled  from  his  sovereign's  banner ; 
he  must  first  do  some  valiant  act,  before,  by  the  law  of  arms,  he  can 
be  restored  to  his  former  bearing.  I  will  not  content  myself  with  a 
comma ;  repentence  helps  not,  when  sin  is  renewed :  nor  dare  I 
make  my  stay  at  a  colon ;  not  to  do  good  is  to  commit  e\'il,  at  least 
by  omission  of  what  I  ought  to  do :  before  I  come  to  a  period,  the 
constant  practice  of  piety,  I  am  sure,  I  cannot  be  sure  of  complete 
glory.  If  I  did  all  strictly,  I  were  yet  unprofitable ;  and  if  God  had 
not  appointed  my  faith  to  perfect  me,  miserable.  If  he  were  not 
full  of  mercies,  how  unhappy  a  creature  were  man ! 

The  nineteenth  century  has  seen,  in  two  conspicuous 
cases,  a  reversion  to  the  Hebrew  starting-point  of  essay 
hterature.  The  Proverbial  Philosophy  of  Martin  Tup- 
per  is  biblical  wisdom,  diluted,  and  become  rhapsodic. 
The  prefatory  introduction  is  suggestive  in  this  con- 
nection. — 

Thoughts,  that  have  tarried  in  my  mind,  and  peopled  its  inner 
chambers. 

The  sober  children  of  reason,  or  desultory  train  of  fancy ; 

Clear-running  wine  of  conviction,  with  the  scum  and  the  lees  of  spec- 
ulation ; 

Corn  from  the  sheaves  of  science,  with  stubble  from  mine  own 
garner : 

Searchings  after  Truth,  that  have  tracked  her  secret  lodes. 

And  come  up  again  to  the  surface-world,  wath  a  knowledge  grounded 
deeper ; 

Arguments  of  high  scope,  that  have  soared  to  the  kej^stone  of 
heaven, 

And  thence  have  swooped  to  their  certain  mark,  as  the  falcon  to  its 
quarry; 

[388] 


THE  ESSAY 

The  fruits  I  have  gathered  of  prudence,  the  ripened  harvest  of  my 

musings, 
These  commend  I  unto  thee,  0  docile  scholar  of  wisdom, 
These  I  give  to  thy  gentle  heart,  thou  lover  of  the  right. 

What,  though  a  guilty  man  renew  that  hallowed  theme. 

And  strike  with  feebler  hand  the  harp  of  Sirach's  son  ? 

What,  though  a  youthful  tongue  take  up  that  ancient  parable, 

And  utter  faintly  forth  dark  sayings  as  of  old  ? 

Sweet  is  the  virgin  honey,  though  the  wild  bee  have  stored  it  in  a 

reed. 
And  bright  the  jewelled  band,  that  circleth  an  Ethiop's  arm ; 
Pure  are  the  grains  of  gold  in  the  turbid  stream  of  Ganges, 
And  fair  the  living  flowers,  that  spring  from  the  dull  cold  sod. 
Wherefore,  thou  gentle  student,  bend  thine  ear  to  my  speech, 
For  I  also  am  as  thou  art ;  our  hearts  can  commune  together : 
To  meanest  matters  will  I  stoop,  for  mean  is  the  lot  of  mortal ; 
I  will  rise  to  noblest  themes,  for  the  soul  hath  an  heritage  of  glory : 
The  passions  of  puny  man ;  the  majestic  characters  of  God  ; 
The  feverish  shadows  of  time,  and  the  mighty  substance  of  eternity. 

The  purpose  of  self-revelation  is  made  clear  enough ; 
but  criticism  has  not  found  the  personality  revealed 
sufficiently  attractive.  Writing  as  full  of  euphuism 
as  the  above  extract  is  sure  of  a  wide  hearing  with  the 
general  public ;  there  is,  moreover,  a  great  deal  of  true 
wisdom  in  the  Proverbial  Philosophy.  Walt  Whitman 
is  a  poet  of  another  order.  Here  we  have  a  strong 
and  deep  personality,  with  a  most  original  viewpoint 
for  the  universe ;  if  to  express  one  attitude  to  the  world 
of  things  we  use  the  term  ''pantheism,"  we  might  coin 
the  word  "  pan-anthropism  "  to  suggest  the  spirit  of 
Walt  Whitman's  poetry.  Both  these  writers,  in  their 
different  spheres,  have  revived  the  parallelism  of  biblical 

[389] 


LITERATURE  OF  PERSONALITY 

wisdom,  and  Whitman  has  shown  its  immense  capacity 
for  the  expression  of  the  most  modern  thinking.  That 
criticism  has  found  the  poetic  form  of  these  writers  a 
stumbhng-block  is,  I  take  it,  one  of  the  many  evidences 
that  our  higher  education  has  lost  touch  with  the 
Hebrew  root  of  our  culture. 

In  the  Hellenic  source  of  our  world  literature  the 
Essay  appears  less  marked  and  less  influential.  In 
Greece  it  was  at  a  very  early  period  that  wisdom 
changed  into  formal  philosophy.  The  Romans  had 
their  attention  engrossed  with  Greek  philosophy ; 
moreover,  in  Latin  prose  the  oratorical  impulse  soon 
nullified  other  variations  of  literary  tone.  Cicero's 
famous  works  on  Old  Age  and  on  Friendship,  and 
the  writings  of  Seneca,  are  at  least  approaches  to 
essay  literature.  And  we  have  two  great  masters  of 
wisdom  in  Epictetus  and  Marcus  Aurelius.  One  of 
those  to  whom  we  are  indebted  for  the  ''Discourses" 
of  Epictetus  writes  :  — 

Whatever  I  heard  from  his  own  mouth,  that  I  tried  to  set  down 
in  the  very  same  words,  so  far  as  possible,  and  to  preserve  as  me- 
morials for  my  own  use,  of  his  manner  of  tliiiiking,  and  his  frank 
utterance.  These  Discourses  are  such  as  one  person  would  natu- 
rally deliver  from  his  own  thoughts,  extempore,  to  another ;  not  such 
as  he  would  prepare  to  be  read  by  others  afterwards. 

Arrian's  explanation  offsets  the  suggestion  of  the  title 
"Discourses,"  and  brings  the  matter  of  Epictetus  home 
to  us  as  revelation  of  a  personality.  There  is  no  need 
to  dwell  upon  the  way  in  which  the  Meditations  of  the 
Emperor  Marcus  Aurelius  have  constituted  a  golden 
book  of  wisdom  to  all  sorts  of  readers  in  subsequent 

[390] 


THE  ESSAY 

ages.  As  counterpart,  in  modern  peoples,  to  classical 
wisdom  and  philosophy  of  every-day  life,  we  may 
instance  the  maxim  writers  of  the  French,  especially 
La  Bruyere  and  La  Rochefoucauld,  or  the  Spanish 
Gracian  in  his  Art  of  Worldly  Wisdom.  On  one  of 
the  former  Sainte-Beuve  remarks  :  — 

The  great  and  simple  things  were  early  said  :  the  ancient  moralists 
and  poets  drew  and  grasped  human  nature  in  its  chief  and  broad 
outlines :  they  seem  to  have  left  to  the  moderns  only  the  discovery 
of  details  and  the  grace  of  refinements.  La  Rochefoucauld  escapes 
this  almost  inevitable  law,  and,  in  these  delicate  and  subtle  matters, 
he,  who  had  not  read  the  ancients  and  was  ignorant  of  them,  obedient 
only  to  the  direct  lights  of  his  mind,  and  to  the  excellence  of  his 
taste,  has,  in  his  best  passages,  attained,  sometimes  in  the  expression 
and  sometimes  in  the  idea  itself,  a  sort  of  grandeur. 

Collections  like  the  Table  Talk  of  Luther,  or  of  Selden, 
or  what  Ben  Jonson  expresses  by  the  title  Timber, 
belong  to  this  group.  And  we  may  mention  the 
Thoughts  of  Pascal.  All  that  reveals  so  interesting  a 
personality  has  value  for  us,  yet  these  stand  apart  from 
the  other  works  of  the  group,  in  the  degree  of  their 
fragmentariness :  in  the  fact  that  large  part  of  them 
seem  studies  or  notes,  intended  to  be  worked  up  in 
different  form  in  the  future. 

From  the  classical  side  comes  the  first  stream  of 
modifying  influence  upon  essay  literature.  No  book 
has  a  better  right  to  a  place  in  world  literature  than 
Plutarch's  Lives.  This,  in  the  original  or  in  its  trans- 
lations, served  as  the  great  intermediary  between  the 
ancient  and  the  modern  world ;  writers  of  the  Renais- 
sance, Shakespeare  at  the  head  of  them,  drew  from 

[391] 


LITERATURE  OF  PERSONALITY 

Plutarch  their  conceptions  of  Greek  and  Roman  history 
and  Hfe.  In  its  form,  Plutarch's  work  would  be  clas- 
sified as  history  or  biography ;  yet  modern  historians 
or  biographers  would  hardly  go  to  Plutarch  as  a  first- 
rate  authority.  The  real  importance  of  the  book, 
making  it  an  epoch  in  literary  history,  is  the  immense 
impetus  it  gave  to  interest  in  personality,  of  which  the 
essay  is  so  largely  the  vehicle.  Not  personahty  only, 
but  comparative  personality,  is  the  subject  of  Plu- 
tarch's book.  The  Lives  are  arranged  in  pairs,  of  a 
Greek  and  a  Roman  personage,  each  pair  followed  by 
a  third  article  comparing  the  two.  We  have  a  life  of 
the  Greek  Aristides,  of  the  Roman  Cato,  with  a  com- 
parison of  the  two ;  similarly,  the  two  great  orators 
Demosthenes  and  Cicero  are  separately  treated  and 
then  discussed  side  by  side ;  we  have  the  Greek  Nicias 
and  the  Roman  Crassus,  and  then  an  argument  mak- 
ing one  the  counterpart  of  the  other;  in  a  single  case 
we  have  four  lives  —  of  Agis,  Cleomenes,  and  the  two 
Gracchi  —  and  an  argumentative  grouping  of  all  four. 
Thus,  all  the  force  of  the  comparative  method  is  utilized 
to  open  up  a  new  branch  of  thought  in  Personality. 
Ethics  and  psychology  are  one  thing,  dealing  with 
human  nature  as  a  whole,  and  analyzing  its  elements  : 
quite  another  thing  is  this  interest  of  Personalit}^,  the 
particularized  distribution  of  the  elements  of  human 
nature  in  the  characters  of  different  individuals.  The 
words  of  Plutarch  himself,  in  the  introduction  to  the 
Life  of  Paulus  ^milius,  seem  to  give  us  the  new  in- 
terest of  personality  rising  out  of  the  older  interest  of 
history. 

[392] 


THE  ESSAY 

When  I  first  applied  myself  to  the  writing  of  these  Lives,  it  waa 
for  the  sake  of  others,  but  I  pursue  that  study  for  my  own  sake ; 
availing  myself  of  history  as  of  a  mirror,  from  which  I  learn  to  ad- 
just and  regulate  my  own  conduct.  For  it  is  like  living  and  con- 
versing with  these  illustrious  men,  when  I  invite  as  it  were,  and 
receive  them,  one  after  another,  under  my  roof:  when  I  consider 
how  great  and  wonderful  they  were,  and  select  from  their  actions  the 
most  memorable  and  glorious. 

North's  translation  of  Plutarch  appeared  in  1579:  it 
will  be  noticed  how  this  comes  near  to  the  beginning  of 
our  greatest  dramatic  era,  when  character  painting  in 
the  highest  sense  was  represented  by  Shakespeare,  and 
exaggerated  features  of  personal  character,  with  their 
stock  name  of  ''humours,"  were  the  interest  of  Ben 
Jonson  and  the  comic  stage.  Somewhat  later  we  have 
the  highly  specialized  section  of  essay  literature  that 
deals  with  types  of  personal  character,  of  which  the 
main  representatives  are  Overbury's  Characters  and  the 
Microcosmography  of  Bishop  Earle.  The  latter  is  a  mas- 
terpiece. Its  very  title  is  suggestive  :  the  older  wisdom 
dealt  with  human  nature  as  a  whole,  but  now  each  single 
individual  is  a  microcosm,  with  a  psychological  geo- 
graphy of  its  own.  The  new  interest  of  personality  ap- 
pears clearly  in  the  lists  of  character  types,  as  compared 
with  the  titles  of  Baconian  or  other  essays. 

A  Child  —  A  young  raw  Preacher  —  A  grave  Divine  —  A  meer 
dull  Physician  —  An  Alderman  —  A  discontented  Man  —  An 
Antiquary  —  A  younger  Brother  —  A  formal  Man  —  A  self-con- 
ceited Man  —  A  Reserved  Man  —  A  Shark  —  An  old  College  But- 
ler —  An  Upstart  Knight  —  A  down-right  Scholar  —  A  young 
Gentleman  of  the  University  —  A  Pot-Poet  —  The  common  Sing- 
ing-Men —  A  Pretender  to  Learning  —  A  Tobacco  seller  —  A  plau- 

[393] 


LITERATURE  OF  PERSONALITY 

sible  Man  —  The  World's  wise  IVIan  —  A  She-precise  Hypocrite 
—  A  Sceptic  in  ReUgion  —  A  plodding  Student  —  An  University 
Dun  —  A  stayed  Man  —  etc. 

This  book  is  so  little  read  at  present  in  proportion  to  its 
importance  in  our  subject,  that  I  am  impelled  to  illus- 
trate the  bright  insight  and  epigrammatic  grace  of 
Earle.  Let  us  see  his  treatment  of  a  human  life  at  its 
two  ends.  — 

A  Child 
is  a  Man  in  a  small  Letter,  yet  the  best  Copy  of  Adam  before  he 
tasted  of  Eve,  or  the  Apple ;  and  he  is  happy  whose  small  practice 
in  the  World  can  only  write  this  Character.  He  is  nature's  fresh 
picture  newly  drawn  in  Oil,  which  time  and  much  handling,  dims 
and  defaces.  His  Soul  is  yet  a  white  paper  unscribbled  with  ob- 
servations of  the  world,  wherewith  at  length  it  becomes  a  blurred 
Note-book.  He  is  purely  happy,  because  he  knows  no  evil,  nor 
hath  made  means  by  sin  to  be  acquainted  with  misery.  He  arrives 
not  at  the  mischief  of  being  wise,  nor  endures  e\'ils  to  come  by  fore- 
seeing them.  He  kisses  and  loves  all,  and,  when  the  smart  of  the 
rod  is  past,  smiles  on  his  beater.  Nature  and  his  Parents  alike 
dandle  him,  and  tice  him  on  with  a  bait  of  Sugar,  to  a  draught  of 
Wormwood.  He  plays  yet,  like  a  young  Prentice  the  first  day,  and 
is  not  come  to  his  task  of  melancholy.  His  hardest  labour  is  his 
tongue,  as  if  he  were  loth  to  use  so  deceitful  an  Organ ;  and  he  is 
best  company  with  it  when  he  can  but  prattle.  We  laugh  at  his 
foolish  sports,  but  his  game  is  our  earnest :  and  his  drums,  rattles 
and  hobby-horses,  but  the  Emblems,  and  mocking  of  man's  business. 
His  father  hath  -writ  him  as  his  own  little  storj^,  wherein  he  reads  those 
days  of  his  life  that  he  cannot  remember ;  and  sighs  to  see  what  in- 
nocence he  has  outhved.  The  elder  he  grows,  he  is  a  stair  lower 
from  God  ;  and  like  his  first  father  much  worse  in  his  breeches.  He 
is  the  Christian's  example,  and  the  old  man's  relapse  :  the  one  imi- 
tates his  pureiiess,  and  the  other  falls  into  his  simplicity.  Could 
he  put  off  his  body  with  his  little  Coat,  he  had  got  eternity  without 
a  burden,  and  exchanged  but  one  Heaven  for  another. 

[394  1 


THE  ESSAY 

A  good  old  Man 

is  the  best  Antiquity,  and  which  we  may  with  least  vanity  admire 
One  whom  Time  hath  been  thus  long  a  working,  and  hke  winter 
fruit  ripened  when  others  are  shaken  down.  He  hath  taken  out 
as  many  lessons  of  the  world,  as  days,  and  learn't  the  best  thing  in 
it,  the  vanity  of  it.  He  looks  o'er  his  former  life  as  a  danger  well 
past,  and  would  not  hazard  himself  to  begin  again.  .  .  .  The 
next  door  of  death  sads  him  not,  but  he  expects  it  calmly  as  his 
turn  in  Nature:  and  fears  more  his  recoiling  back  to  childishness 
than  dust.  All  men  look  on  him  as  a  common  father,  and 
on  old  age  for  his  sake  as  a  reverent  thing.  His  very  presence 
and  face  puts  vice  out  of  countenance,  and  makes  it  an  indecorum 
in  a  vicious  man.  He  practises  his  experience  on  youth  without  the 
harshness  of  reproof,  and  in  his  counsel  is  good  company.  He  has 
some  old  stories  still  of  his  own  seeing  to  confirm  what  he  says,  and 
makes  them  better  in  the  telling;  yet  is  not  troublesome  neither 
with  the  same  tale  again,  but  remembers  with  them  how  oft  he  has 
told  them.  .  .  .  You  must  pardon  him  if  he  like  his  own  times 
better  than  these,  because  those  things  are  follies  to  him  now  that 
were  wisdom  then :  yet  he  makes  us  of  that  opinion  too,  when  we 
see  him,  and  conjecture  those  times  by  so  good  a  Relic.  He  is  a 
man  capable  of  a  dearness  with  the  youngest  men ;  yet  he  not  youth- 
fuller  for  them,  but  they  older  for  him,  and  no  man  credits  more 
his  acquaintance.  He  goes  away  at  last,  too  soon  whensoever, 
with  all  men's  sorrow  but  his  own,  and  his  memory  is  fresh  when 
it  is  twice  as  old. 

The  whole  of  essay  Hterature  is  enriched  by  the  in- 
fluences represented  in  works  of  this  kind.  The  essays 
do  not  cease  to  reflect  the  personaHty  of  their  authors ; 
but  the  whole  interest  of  human  personality  has  been 
lifted  on  to  a  higher  plane. 

The  second  great  stream  of  influence  upon  the  essay 
comes  from  modern  European  literature,  in  the  writings 
of  Montaigne.     Bacon,  Montaigne,  and  Addison  make 

f  395  ] 


LITERATURE  OF  PERSONALITY 

three  great  masters  in  this  division  of  the  literary  field. 
In  this  new  development  the  self-revelation  that  belongs 
to  the  essay  is  no  longer  unconscious :  Montaigne 
writes  to  pour  himself  out  upon  paper,  though  in  the 
most  unpremeditated  fashion  possible. 

This  fagotting  up  of  divers  pieces,  is  so  oddly  composed,  that  I 
never  set  pen  to  paper,  but  when  I  have  too  much  idle  time,  and 
never  any  where  but  at  home;  so  that  it  is  compiled  at  several 
interruptions  and  intervals,  as  occasions  keep  me  sometimes  many 
months  abroad.  As  to  the  rest,  I  never  correct  my  first  by  any 
second  conceptions.  I  peradventure  may  alter  a  word  or  so :  but 
'tis  only  to  vary  the  phrase,  and  not  to  destroy  my  former  meaning. 
I  have  a  mind  to  represent  the  progress  of  my  humour,  that  every 
one  may  see  every  piece  as  it  came  from  the  forge. 

If  we  may  believe  him,  all  in  Montaigne  that  is  really 
important  is  kept  out  of  his  writing :  — 

Such  as  I  am,  I  will  be  elsewhere  than  in  paper :  my  art  and  in- 
dustry have  been  ever  directed  to  render  me  good  for  something; 
and  my  studies,  to  teach  me  to  do,  and  not  to  write.  I  have  made  it 
my  whole  business  to  frame  my  life. .  This  has  been  my  trade 
and  my  work.  I  am  less  a  writer  of  books  than  anything  else.  .  .  . 
Who  has  anything  of  value  in  him,  let  liim  make  it  appear  in  his 
manners,  in  his  ordinary  discourses,  in  his  courtships  and  his  quar- 
rels, in  play,  in  bed,  at  table,  in  the  management  of  his  affairs,  in 
his  oeconomy.  Those  that  I  see  make  good  books  in  ill  breeches, 
should  first  have  mended  their  breeches,  if  they  would  have  been 
ruled  by  me. 

But  the  personality  of  one  who  has  made  it  his  whole 
business  to  frame  his  life  is  likely  to  be  worth  knowing  ; 
and  besides  this  the  form  of  the  essay,  always  distin- 
guished by  freedom,  receives  immense  enhancement  by 
Montaigne's  discursive  mode  of  revealing  himself,  in 

[396] 


THE  ESSAY 

flashes,  in  fragments  hot  from  the  forge.  The  essay- 
now  reaches  the  intimacy  of  monologue  conversation. 

When  we  consider  the  expansion  of  essay  hterature 
which  all  this  suggests,  and  its  spontaneous  simplicity, 
we  might  be  inclined  to  expect  that  writing  of  this  kind 
would  become  the  dominant  form  of  literature,  outdis- 
tancing other  forms  in  productiveness.  That  the  course 
of  literary  history  has  been  different  from  this  is  due  to 
the  peculiar  characteristics  of  what  makes  the  next  great 
stage  in  the  evolution  of  the  essay.  This  is  found  in 
such  collections  as  the  Tatler  and  Spectator,  with  writers 
like  Steele  and  Samuel  Johnson  and  Oliver  Goldsmith, 
and  above  all,  Addison.  Here  we  have  essay  writing 
of  supreme  excellence,  and  highly  typical  of  the  form. 
The  reader  cares  not  a  straw  what  may  be  the  particular 
topic  which  Addison  may  be  discussing  at  the  moment ; 
the  interest  is  in  the  personality  of  Addison,  equally 
attractive  upon  whatever  it  may  be  flashing,  from  Para- 
dise Lost  to  feats  of  yawning  and  whistling. 

But  there  are  two  special  features  of  this  group  of 
essays  which  have  an  important  bearing  upon  the  future 
of  the  literature  of  personality.  One  is  that  we  now 
get  essays,  roughly  speaking  of  the  same  length,  appear- 
ing daily  or  at  short  fixed  intervals.  In  this  periodical 
appearance  there  is  a  departure  from  the  full  freedom  of 
the  essay  and  its  accidental  and  spontaneous  impulse. 
The  periodical  tendency  grows  and  becomes  more  im- 
perious, until  essay  literature  finds  itself  drawn  into  the 
machinery  of  periodical  writing,  and  produces  the  mag- 
azine article,  or  even  associates  itself  with  the  newspaper 
and  its  daily  purveying  of  news  and  criticism  of  current 

[397] 


LITERATURE  OF  PERSONALITY 

events.  Thus  to  a  large  extent  essay  writing  passes  out 
of  regular  into  floating  literature  :  the  floating  literature 
made  by  printing  facilities  at  the  end  of  literary  evolu- 
tion, corresponding  to  the  other  floating  literature  at  the 
beginning  of  things  made  by  the  absence  of  writing. 
Here  is  a  vast  field  for  the  treatment  of  the  great  human 
interest  of  personality ;  it  is  no  longer  personality  in  the 
individual  sense,  but  such  interest  of  human  nature  as 
is  shared  in  common  between  a  band  of  anonymous  writ- 
ers and  an  army  of  indiscriminate  readers. 

But  a  second  important  feature  of  the  Spectator  is  the 
element  of  creative  story  which  it  develops.  We  have 
seen  how,  in  the  romance  age,  the  multiplication  and 
aggregation  of  stories  brought  about  the  frame  story 
which  was  to  introduce  the  rest.  So  here,  something  of 
a  frame  story  comes  into  the  Spectator.  The  very  title 
''Spectator"  is  suggestive  :  of  a  silent  man,  haunting  all 
the  clubs  and  public  places,  never  opening  his  lips,  but 
taking  note  of  everything  to  pour  it  out  in  the  daily  es- 
says. But  this  is  not  enough  :  the  Spectator  must  have 
his  own  particular  club,  and  all  its  personages  need  pre- 
senting. There  is  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley :  great  type  of 
the  English  baronet,  hunter,  justice  of  the  peace.  He  has 
passed  through  the  usual  spirited  youth ;  the  perverse- 
ness  of  a  widow  in  the  next  county  keeps  him  a  bachelor 
all  his  life,  although,  if  she  would  but  have  listened  to  his 
suit,  ''upon  her  wedding  day  she  should  have  carried  on 
her  head  fifty  of  the  tallest  oaks  upon  his  estate ; ...  he 
would  have  given  her  a  coal-pit  to  keep  her  in  clean  linen, 
he  would  have  allowed  her  the  profits  of  a  wind-mill  for 
her  fans,  and  would  have  presented  her  once  in  three 

[3981 


THE  ESSAY 

years  with  the  shearing  of  his  sheep  for  her  under  petti- 
coats." There  is  Captain  Sentry,  Sir  Roger's  nephew 
and  heir.  There  is  a  Hterary  barrister,  who  knows  Aris- 
totle and  Longiniis  better  than  Littleton  or  Coke ;  and 
a  modest  clergyman  who  is  among  divines  what  a  cham- 
ber councillor  is  among  lawyers.  Sir  Andrew  Freeport  is 
a  great  London  merchant ;  there  is  not  a  point  in  the 
compass  but  blows  home  a  ship  in  which  he  is  an  owner. 
Will  Honeycomb  represents  the  man  about  town,  great 
on  fashions:  ''He  knows  the  history  of  every  mode, 
and  can  inform  you  from  what  Frenchwoman  our  wives 
and  daughters  had  this  manner  of  curling  their  hair,  that 
way  of  placing  their  hoods ;  and  whose  vanity  to  show 
her  foot  made  that  part  of  the  dress  so  short  in  such  a 
year.  .  .  .  Where  women  are  not  concerned,  he  is  an 
honest  worthy  man."  Mingling  with  the  miscellaneous 
topics  of  the  essays  we  have  kept  before  us  the  sayings 
and  doings  of  these  worthies,  and  of  others  whom  they 
introduce.  At  last  this  thread  of  story  comes  to  be 
wound  up.  Sir  Roger  is  found  to  have  "lost  his  roast- 
beef  stomach,"  and  takes  to  his  death-bed,  amid  the 
tears  of  all  around,  and  not  without  a  kind  message 
at  last  from  the  widow.  Captain  Sentry  leaves  town 
to  take  the  estate.  Sir  Andrew  leaves  business  to 
set  his  spiritual  affairs  in  order  for  the  close  of  life. 
Will  Honeycomb  succumbs  to  the  attractions  of  a 
country  girl  on  his  own  estate,  and  marries,  confessing 
that  he  has  been  eight-and-forty  these  twelve  years. 
The  Club  is  gone,  and  the  Spectator  has  to  face  the 
question  of  making  a  new  one. 

Slight  as  all  this  may  seem,  it  has  importance  in  lit- 

[399] 


LITERATURE  OF  PERSONALITY 

erary  history.  In  this  association  of  miscellaneous 
essays  with  a  creative  frame  story  we  may  see  the  em- 
bryo of  the  modern  novel.  Of  course,  the  term  ''novel " 
covers  the  most  diverse  literary  types.  But  that  which 
we  have  in  mind  when  we  speak  of  the  "modern  Eng- 
lish novel"  seems  to  be  created  by  the  fusion  of  the  es- 
say and  the  story.  In  this  it  contrasts,  for  example,  with 
the  epic  stories  of  Scott,  or  the  stories  of  the  Decameron 
type,  or  the  modern  short  story,  and  many  other  varie- 
ties. If  we  take  two  highly  typical  authors  of  the  mod- 
ern EngUsh  novel,  George  Eliot  and  George  Meredith, 
we  can  see  the  two  elements  all  through  running  side  by 
side,  harmonious,  and  yet  separable  for  analysis.  In 
these  two  authors,  the  discussional  matter  of  life  and 
personaUty,  and  the  actual  incidents  of  the  story,  are 
about  in  equal  proportions.  And  this  makes  the  im- 
mense importance  of  this  form  of  literature.  Instead  of 
being  dispersed  in  separate  essays,  the  novel  allows  think- 
ing upon  human  affairs  and  individual  personality  to  be 
brought  into  direct  contact  with  created  types  of  inci- 
dent and  personal  development ;  there  is  the  same  ad- 
vantage that  science  has  when  its  exposition  is  intermin- 
gled with  experimental  illustration.  With  this  great 
organ  of  expression  open  to  it,  it  is  not  surprising  that, 
in  our  times,  the  personality  of  authors  is  attracted  to 
the  novel  rather  than  the  essay,  and  pours  out  its 
feelings  on  universal  and  on  current  topics  in  a  medium 
in  which  self-revelation  blends  with  creative  revelations 
of  other  life. 

But  all  the  while  that  essay  Hterature  has  been  draw- 
ing in  the  two  directions  of  the  newspaper  or  magazine 

[400] 


THE  ESSAY 

and  the  novel,  the  original  type  has  continued,  and  en- 
larged itself  to  modern  conditions  of  the  literary  world. 
Three  great  masters  of  the  essay  stand  out  in  modern 
times:  Macaulay,  Emerson,  Sainte-Beuve.  And  the 
writings  of  these  authors  gain  the  fullest  appreciation 
when  they  are  put  into  the  category  of  essays,  and  con- 
sidered as  revelations  of  the  supremely  interesting  per- 
sonalities they  reflect.  If  the  essays  of  Macaulay  are 
presented  as  scientific  criticism,  they  drop  at  once  in 
value.  They  regain  their  full  value  when  they  are  ac- 
cepted, not  as  science,  but  as  literature;  the  mind  of 
Macaulay  plajdng  upon  any  topic  cannot  but  be  excel- 
lent literature,  though  it  may  be  very  doubtful  criticism. 
And  the  designation  of  essay  may  enlarge  to  take  in 
writers  not  usually  described  as  essayists.  In  this  light, 
surely,  we  should  look  upon  Carlyle  and  Ruskin.  I  do 
not,  of  course,  refer  to  particular  works  like  the  Modern 
Painters,  or  the  Cromwell's  Letters  and  Speeches  ;  but 
in  the  general  writings  of  Carlyle  and  Ruskin,  which 
have  attracted  such  large  circles  of  readers,  we  may  see 
the  revelation  of  the  author  as  the  force  of  attraction. 
And  the  essay  in  this  sense  may  easily  coalesce  with 
other  literary  forms.  What  are  we  to  say  in  reference 
to  Carlyle's  French  Revolution?  If  we  put  it  into  the 
class  of  histories,  other  histories  will  find  it  strange  com- 
pany. Shall  we  call  it  a  prose  epic  ?  or  is  it  a  gigantic 
essay  ?  But  literary  classification  is  not  the  subject  be- 
fore us.  However  we  may  deal  with  the  term  "  essay," 
the  study  of  human  personality,  and  especially  the  self- 
revelation  of  an  author's  personality,  will  always  con- 
stitute a  leading  division  of  world  literature. 

2d  [  401  ] 


LITERATURE  OF  PERSONALITY 

In  the  poetic  side  of  literature  we  find  a  branch  spec- 
ially devoted  to  the  expression  of  personality,  and  a  me- 
dium for  the  self -revelation  of  an  author.  It  is  what  we 
usually  mean  by  the  term  Lyrics.  The  adjective  "lyric  " 
describes  one  of  the  three  main  divisions  of  poetry: 
this  will  include  lyrics  of  the  stage,  hymns,  and  occa- 
sional pieces  like  epithalamia,  and  other  literature  that 
is  objective  rather  than  subjective.  But  ordinary  usage 
seems  to  reserve  the  noun  ''lyrics"  for  poems  of  a  sub- 
jective spirit ;  songs  and  fugitive  pieces  which  are  the 
expression  of  a  poet's  moods,  or  the  crystallization  of  a 
passing  fancy.  Lyrics  in  this  sense  have  always  been 
the  dehght  of  the  cultured  reader,  and  are  the  verse  ana- 
logue of  essays  in  being  the  medium  through  which  the 
personality  of  the  author  reveals  itself  to  the  reader. 
From  Hebrew  literature  we  have  the  Book  of  Psalms ; 
this  of  course  is  a  miscellaneous  collection  in  which  every 
type  of  lyrical  poetry  finds  representation,  but  no 
psalms  are  more  important  than  those  meditations  in 
which  poetry  is  made  the  confidant  of  devotional  feeling. 
Classical  poetry  is  full  of  lyrics  :  one  particular  work, 
the  Odes  of  Horace,  has  attained  a  central  place  in  the 
literature  of  the  cultured  man.  It  adds  to  the  usual  at- 
tractions of  lyrics  the  special  interest  in  the  personality 
of  a  Horace  underlying  such  varied  pieces ;  and  we  may 
even  say  that  the  collection  as  a  whole  embodies  a  cer- 
tain fixed  attitude  of  mind  to  the  external  world.  Be- 
sides these  ancient  classics  there  are  the  numerous 
collections  of  lyrical  poems,  from  TotteVs  Miscellany, 
which  presented  Elizabethan  England  as  a  nest  of  sing- 
ing birds,  to  the  Palgrave's  Golden  Treasury  of  our  own 

[402] 


LYRICS 

day.  Some  of  the  greatest  of  poets,  notably  Shelley 
and  Browning,  appear  at  their  best  in  this  medium  of 
expression. 

Side  by  side  with  the  free  variety  of  such  lyrics,  we 
have  one  highly  specialized  form,  a  creation  of  modern 
poetry,  in  the  Sonnet.  In  a  looser  sense  this  term 
may  be  used  of  literature  of  any  age  where  form  seems 
to  determine  matter.^  But  in  the  modern  acceptation  of 
the  word  the  Sonnet  is  created  by  the  Italy  of  Dante 
and  Petrarch,  though  eagerly  adopted  —  not  without 
modifications  of  detail  —  by  English  poets.  This  Son- 
net is  accepted  specifically  as  the  lyric  of  self-revelation. 
How  it  has  attracted  our  leading  poetic  minds  has  been 
expressed  by  a  great  master  of  this  form  in  the  well- 
known  lines  of  Wordsworth. 

Scorn  not  the  Sonnet ;  Critic,  you  have  frowned, 
Mindless  of  its  just  honours ;  with  this  key- 
Shakespeare  unlocked  his  heart ;  the  melody 
Of  this  small  lute  gave  ease  to  Petrarch's  wound ; 
A  thousand  times  this  pipe  did  Tasso  sound ; 
With  it  Camoens  soothed  an  exile's  grief ; 
The  Sonnet  glittered  a  gay  myrtle  leaf 
Amid  the  cypress  with  which  Dante  crowned 
His  visionary  brow ;  a  glow-worm  lamp. 
It  cheered  mild  Spenser,  called  from  Faery-land 
To  struggle  through  dark  ways ;  and,  when  a  damp 
Fell  round  the  path  of  Milton,  in  his  hand 
The  Thing  became  a  trumpet ;  whence  he  blew 
Soul-animating  strains  —  alas,  too  few  ! 

^  I  have  ventured  to  claim  this  term  for  biblical  literature  in  my 
Literary  Study  of  the  Bible,  pages  306-15  (compare  page  521); 
more  briefly,  in  the  Modern  Reader's  Bible,  page  1457. 

[403] 


LITERATURE  OF  PERSONALITY 

In  one  respect  the  sonnet  seems  to  differ  widely  from 
other  lyrics  of  self -revelation,  and  from  their  prose  coun- 
terpart in  the  essays,  that  here  instead  of  freedom  in 
form  we  have  the  strictest  constructive  model.  But 
though  to  the  reader  who  is  no  poet  himself,  or  at  best 
is  conscious  of  being  a  poetaster,  such  strict  form  seems 
a  limitation,  yet  it  is  one  of  the  paradoxes  of  literary 
composition  that  the  poet  who  has  once  mastered  tech- 
nique finds  in  technique  an  inspiration.  This  has  been 
said  for  us,  in  sonnet  form,  by  Wordsworth  himself. 

Nuns  fret  not  at  their  convent's  narrow  room ; 
And  hermits  are  contented  ^vith  their  cells ; 
And  students  with  their  pensive  citadels ; 
Maids  at  the  wheel,  the  weaver  at  his  loom, 
Sit  blithe  and  happy ;  bees  that  soar  for  bloom 
High  as  the  highest  Peak  of  Furness-fells, 
Will  murmur  by  the  hour  in  foxglove  bells : 
In  truth  the  prison,  unto  which  we  doom 
Ourselves,  no  prison  is  :   and  hence  for  me, 
In  sundry  moods,  'twas  pastime  to  be  bound 
Within  the  Sonnet's  scanty  plot  of  ground ; 
Pleased  if  some  Souls  (for  such  there  needs  must  be) 
Who  have  felt  the  weight  of  too  much  liberty. 
Should  find  brief  solace  there,  as  I  have  found. 

From  the  same  poet  comes  an  exquisite  expression  of 
the  spirit  of  this  poetic  type. 

Happy  the  feeling  from  the  bosom  thro^^m 
In  perfect  shape  (whose  beauty  Time  shall  spare 
Though  a  breath  made  it)  like  a  bubble  blown 
For  summer  pastime  into  wanton  air ; 
Happy  the  thought  best  likened  to  a  stone 
Of  the  sea-beach,  when,  polished  with  nice  care, 
Veins  it  discovers  exquisite  and  rare, 
[404] 


LYRICS 

Which  for  the  loss  of  that  moist  gleam  atone 
That  tempted  first  to  gather  it. 

So  closely  is  the  sonnet  associated  with  the  expression 
of  individual  sentiment  that  it  has  been  humorously 
described  as  an  apartment  for  a  single  gentleman  in 
verse/  Yet  the  history  of  the  sonnet  shows  a  stage 
somewhat  analogous  to  that  by  which  individual  essays 
drew,  in  the  Spectator,  into  a  connected  frame  story. 
This  is  the  stage  of  the  Sonnet  Sequence  :  not  of  course 
the  loose  connection  of  poems  with  allied  subjects,  like 
the  Ecclesiastical  Sonnets  of  Wordsworth,  but  the 
series  of  sonnets  which,  though  each  is  complete  in  itself, 
yet  suggest  an  underlying  story,  the  phases  of  which  they 
are  supposed  to  express.  The  Vita  Nuova  of  Dante 
combines  the  story,  in  prose,  with  sonnets  expressing  its 
different  parts ;  or  sonnets  (and  kindred  poems)  stand 
by  themselves,  such  as  those  of  Petrarch  celebrating  his 
Laura.  Especially  we  have  the  great  poetic  mystery 
of  Shakespeare's  Sonnets,  still  in  dispute.  It  seems 
scarcely  possible  to  question  that  the  succession  of  these 
sonnets  conveys  a  story,  or  rather,  two  stories  which 
may  or  may  not  be  one.  The  only  real  question  is 
whether  the  poet  himself  is  the  hero  of  the  story,  or 
whether  even  here  the  great  dramatist  is  dramatizing  a 
revelation  of  some  other  soul. 

But  detailed  discussion  of  these  forms  is  not  here  in 
place.  The  point  is  that  Sonnets  and  similar  Lyrics 
in  verse,  and  Essays  in  prose,  should  be  recognized  as 
the  natural  medium  through  which  the  cultured  reader 

*  Gummere,  Beginnings  of  Poetry,  page  145. 
[  405  ] 


LITERATURE  OF  PERSONALITY 

seeks  access  to  the  mind  and  heart  of  the  great  masters 
of  literature.  Biography  leads  us  outside  the  bounda- 
ries of  literature  into  other  fields ;  what  is  wanted  is  not 
external  description  of  an  author,  but  his  own  self- 
revelation  ;  not  even  his  revelation  of  himself  in  com- 
merce with  the  ordinary  world,  but  the  self-revelation  of 
his  literary  moods,  which  will  naturally  find  expression 
in  literary  forms.  World  literature  offers  these  literary 
revelations  in  abundance.  I  do  not  attempt  to  frame 
any  list :  it  is  for  the  reader  to  invite  his  own  company. 
The  sole  point  of  this  chapter  is  that  Essays  and  Lyrics 
constitute  a  literary  organ  of  intimacy  between  author 
and  reader. 


406 


CHAPTER  IX 

STRATEGIC   POINTS   IN   LITERATURE 

THE  expression  "world  literature"  is  apt  to  suggest 
something  impracticably  vast :  to  be  attempted 
only  by  those  who  have  special  literary  capacity,  with  a 
lifetime  to  devote  to  the  study.  This  impression  is  a 
thing  to  be  resisted.  The  vastness  of  literature  applies 
to  its  detail,  not  to  its  total  impression.  The  number  of 
the  stars  is  beyond  the  possibiUty  of  counting  :  yet  it  is 
open  to  every  one,  by  lifting  up  his  eyes,  to  receive  an 
image  of  a  stellar  hemisphere.  The  only  real  obstacle 
in  the  way  of  world  literature  is  the  indisposition  to  look 
for  it ;  an  indisposition  largely  the  result  of  our  educa- 
tion, which  has  taught  us  to  look  with  bhnkers,  so  to 
speak  —  to  strain  our  gaze  along  single  lines,  such  as  the 
literature  in  our  own  language,  or  in  the  two  or  three 
languages  we  happen  to  know,  instead  of  seeking  an  all- 
round  survey.  It  is  true  that  the  stellar  hemisphere,  to 
continue  our  figure,  will  impress  different  images  on 
different  minds,  according  to  the  point  at  which  the 
observer  stands,  and  the  strength  of  his  vision ;  and  so 
world  literature,  as  we  have  seen,  will  vary  in  its  content 
for  different  peoples,  or  according  to  different  degrees 
of  capacity  and  attention  bestowed  on  the  subject. 

[407] 


STRATEGIC  POINTS  IN  LITERATURE 

Considerations  of  this  kind  seem  relevant  to  the  point  in 
our  study  we  have  now  reached.  Great  part  of  what 
has  gone  before  relates  to  features  of  world  literature 
which  should  impress  themselves  upon  all  who  look 
from  the  Enghsh  point  of  view.  Beyond  these  there  is 
the  widest  scope  for  individual  differences  of  impression  ; 
discussion  of  world  literature  does  not  mean  a  catalogue 
of  works  to  read,  but  principles  to  guide  individual 
choice.  A  former  chapter  has  discussed  one  principle 
that  should  affect  individual  choice,  the  tendency  to 
choose  with  mental  grouping ;  the  comparative  reading 
that  instinctively  draws  together  similarities  and  con- 
trasts from  different  parts  of  the  literary  field.  The 
present  chapter  is  occupied  with  another  principle  of 
choice  —  the  search  for  strategic  points  in  literature : 
points  in  the  literary  field  which  are  specially  valuable 
for  their  bearing  on  the  survey  of  the  field  of  literature 
as  a  whole.  Of  course,  any  selection  of  such  strategic 
points  in  literature  will  be  an  individual  selection :  the 
purpose  is  not  to  prescribe  particulars,  but  to  insist  upon 
the  tendency  to  search  for  what  is  strategic.  I  proceed 
to  my  hst,  fully  understanding  that  it  will  satisfy  nobody 
but  myself,  while  to  myseK  it  is  only  approximately 
satisfactory.  Some  readers  will  exclaim  at  what  is 
left  out ;  it  is  for  them  to  supply  the  omissions.  Others 
perhaps  may  take  alarm  at  the  length  of  the  list.  But 
to  these  I  would  point  out  that  it  is  a  great  element  in 
Hterary  culture  merely  to  get  into  contact  with  the  right 
literature.  To  know  few  things  and  to  touch  many 
things  is  a  sound  maxim  of  study :  it  is  no  small  part  of 
knowledge  to  know  what  there  is  to  be  known. 

[  408  ] 


PLATO  AND  LUCRETIUS 

I.  In  the  roll  of  the  world's  great  Hterary  men  no 
name  stands  higher  than  that  of  Plato.  Among  modern 
thinkers  two  opposite  attitudes  are  taken  to  the  works 
of  Plato.  By  some  it  will  be  maintained  that  his  name 
is  almost  synonymous  with  philosophy  itself ;  that,  ex- 
cept in  the  working  out  of  details,  which  is  the  province 
of  the  modern  world,  all  that  is  essential  in  philosophy 
has  been  anticipated  in  the  writings  of  this  one  man. 
Others,  while  doing  full  homage  to  the  historic  impor- 
tance of  Plato,  insist  that  the  whole  of  what  he  has  pro- 
duced stands  outside  what  the  modern  world  accepts  as 
philosophy.  The  reconciliation  of  these  opposing  views 
is  found  in  the  strategic  position  Plato  occupies  in  the 
general  field  of  literature.  His  date  takes  us  to  the  time 
when  philosophy  had  not  yet  become  differentiated  from 
literature.  Evolution  is  to  a  large  extent  a  succession  of 
differentiating  processes,  by  which  newer  and  more  and 
more  specialized  pursuits  separate  themselves  from 
broader  fields  of  which  they  had  formerly  made  a  part ; 
literature  is  the  mother  country  from  which  all  other 
studies  have  migrated.  Plato  represents  Dramatized 
Philosophy.  This  does  not  mean  merely  that  the  writ- 
ings of  this  philosopher  are  in  the  form  of  dialogue ;  it 
would  be  quite  possible  to  rewrite  the  works  of  Kant  or 
Herbert  Spencer  in  dialogue  form,  without  their  ceasing 
to  be  just  the  type  of  philosophy  they  represent  at  pres- 
ent. But  the  works  of  Plato  are  dramatic  dialogues,  of 
the  highest  literary  force  and  beauty.  The  hero  of  these 
dramatic  dialogues  is  Socrates :  there  was  a  Socrates  of 
real  life  of  whom  we  form  an  estimate  from  the  works  of 
unimaginative  writers  like  Xenophon,  but  the  Socrates 

[409] 


STRATEGIC  POINTS  IN  LITERATURE 

who  is  protagonist  in  world  philosophy  is  the  dramatic 
creation  of  Plato.  Other  personalities  mingle  with  that 
of  Socrates,  all  worked  up  by  the  hand  of  a  dramatic 
master.  The  dialogues  have  their  scenic  background, 
and  all  the  play  of  wit  and  rapid  turns  of  intellectual 
encounter  that  go  to  make  plot.  Not  only  is  philosophy 
at  this  point  undivorced  from  literature,  but  literature 
has  not  fully  committed  itself  to  the  most  fundamen- 
tal of  differentiations,  that  between  poetry  and  prose, 
the  Uterature  that  is  creative  and  the  literature  that 
limits  itself  to  analysis  and  discussion.  In  this  way  the 
works  of  Plato  cover  the  whole  ground  of  modern 
thought;  yet  what  is  presented  (as  previously  re- 
marked) is  not  so  much  philosoph}^  itself  as  a  dramatiza- 
tion of  the  thought  processes  that  make  philosophy.  It 
is  of  permanent  value  to  literature,  that  includes  in  itself 
all  intellectual  pursuits ;  of  varying  value,  sometimes 
great,  sometimes  small,  in  the  restricted  field  of  modern 
philosophy.  The  conception  of  world  literature  de- 
mands some  contact  with  this  brilliant  source  of  the 
river  of  modern  thought,  with  this  literary  representa- 
tive of  the  greatest  of  Hellenic  personalities.  Such 
works  as  the  Apology  of  Socrates,  the  Phcedo,  the  Gor- 
gias,  the  Symposium,  with  enough  of  the  Republic  to 
give  idea  of  its  scope  and  point  of  view,  will  at  least 
bring  the  reader  into  contact  with  this  supreme  literary 
artist  and  thinker. 

With  Plato  it  is  natural  to  associate  Lucretius.  The 
centuries  that  intervene  are  no  objection :  Lucretius, 
like  most  Roman  poets,  is  working  over  a  Greek  original ; 
moreover,  as  a  general  principle,  a  species  of  literature 

[410] 


ARISTOPHANES 

that  has  once  existed  can  at  any  future  time  be  recalled 
by  imitation.  As  Plato  is  dramatized  philosophy,  so 
Lucretius  is  poetized  science.  The  matter  is  an  attempt 
to  construct  the  universe  on  a  basis  of  ultimate  indivis- 
ible atoms,  that  has  a  superficial  resemblance  to  atom 
theories  of  modern  science,  though  of  course  with  the 
fundamental  difference  that  it  is  pure  speculation  un- 
supported by  quantitative  analysis  and  experimental 
research.  But  this  is  conveyed  with  the  rhythm  and 
diction  of  poetry ;  and  the  conventions  of  Latin  poetry 
lead  to  digressions  that  give  scope  for  the  highest  crea- 
tive power.  The  detailed  system  has  interest  only  for 
the  specialist  in  Latin  literature  or  in  the  history  of  phil- 
osophy. But  some  of  these  digressions  —  as  where  sex 
attraction,  the  pervading  principle  of  the  organic  world, 
finds  apotheosis  in  the  invocation  to  Venus ;  or  where 
the  charms  of  philosophic  thought  are  compared  with 
the  pleasures  of  the  world ;  especially  where  we  have 
the  enthusiastic  acceptance  of  Death  by  one  to  whom 
beyond  Death  there  is  nothing  —  these  give  us  perhaps 
the  highest  point  to  which  Latin  poetry  has  attained. 

II.  Aristophanes  is  the  most  brilliant  of  poets.  And 
he  has  inspired  the  best  of  translations :  in  the  hands 
of  men  like  B.  B.  Rogers  and  Bartle  Frere  the  original 
brilliance  is  not  dissipated  in  the  process  of  englishing. 
In  our  present  discussion  the  chief  importance  of  Aristo- 
phanes is  that  he  stands  at  a  most  interesting  point  in 
the  history  of  poetry,  representing  a  critical  issue  in  the 
development  of  literature.  This  is  nothing  less  than 
the  union  of  serious  and  comic.  In  ancient  Greece 
Tragedy  and  Comedy  moved  in  entirely  distinct  orbits ; 

1411] 


STRATEGIC  POINTS  IN  LITERATURE 

the  difference  of  the  two  was  the  difference  of  spirit 
represented  by  the  words  "serious"  (spoudaios)  and 
"  laughable  "  (geloios).  Both  had  risen  out  of  the  prim- 
itive art  of  dancing  :  the  germ  of  the  one  was  the  intri- 
cate and  intellectual  movement  of  the  chorus;  the  germ 
of  the  other  was  the  jolly  freedom  of  the  comus.  There 
was  a  time  when  Tragedy  in  Athens  —  already  in  the 
form  of  dramatic  scenes  alternating  with,  lyric  choral 
odes — was  a  public  function,  exhibited  with  great  splen- 
dor at  the  expense  of  the  state.  Fragmentary  historic 
references  suggest  how  at  this  time  the  comic  poets,  nat- 
urally desiring  the  same  state  patronage,  found  no  way 
of  obtaining  it  but  by  following  the  routine  prescribed 
to  tragic  poets,  and  applying  to  the  authorities  for  a 
"Chorus."  When  their  application  succeeded  they  had 
attained  the  right  of  public  exhibition,  but  the  Comedy 
thus  to  be  exhibited  was  encumbered  with  the  incon- 
gruous element  of  a  tragic  Chorus  —  a  body  of  artists 
trained  in  the  intricate  and  elevated  art  proper  to  the 
most  serious  and  religious  of  dramas.  Thus  Old  Attic 
Comedy,  of  which  Aristophanes  is  our  only  representa- 
tive, follows  the  structure  of  Tragedy,  dramatic  scenes 
alternating  with  choral  poetry.  Of  coiu"se  the  Chorus 
can  be  burlesqued ;  instead  of  a  Chorus  of  Senators,  or 
Matrons,  we  have  a  Chorus  of  Clouds  —  in  gauzy  upper 
garments,  with  long  black  trains  to  represent  shadows 
sweeping  over  the  hills  —  or  a  Chorus  of  Birds  with 
wings  and  long  beaks,  or  a  Chorus  of  Wasps  with  stings 
and  slim  waists.  But  however  deeply  such  a  Chorus 
may  enter  into  the  broad  farce,  which  makes  the  Com- 
edy of  that  period,  the  choral  element  always  invites 

[412] 


A  MEDIEVAL  GROUP 

outbursts  of  lyrical  beauty,  the  most  delicate  fancies, 
the  most  elevated  thoughts.  And  besides  the  high  art 
of  the  Chorus  there  is  in  the  matter  of  the  plays  an  ele- 
ment making  for  the  serious.  Attic  comedies  might 
almost  be  called  dramatized  newspapers.  They  were 
organs  of  political  parties  :  and  it  has  contributed  in  no 
small  degree  to  traditional  misconceptions  of  Greek  life 
that  the  comic  newspapers  of  only  one  party  have  come 
down  to  us.  The  choral  odes  are  often  passionate  dis- 
cussions of  political  topics;  the  ''parabases"  resemble 
leading  articles  ;  the  dramatic  scenes  are  acted  cartoons. 
So  vivid  is  the  workmanship  of  Aristophanes  that  the 
modern  reader  enters  easily  into  the  fun  and  enjoys  the 
grotesque  picturing  of  life :  in  the  Clouds,  to  see  bur- 
lesqued Socrates  and  the  New  Learning ;  in  the  Birds,  to 
follow  a  good-humored  parody  of  current  enterprise  as 
a  project  for  fortifying  the  atmosphere ;  in  the  Lysis- 
trata,  to  watch  a  profusion  of  choral  dances  surrounding 
a  strike  of  women  against  husbands  and  lovers  in  the 
interests  of  peace  as  against  war.  But  with  all  this 
human  interest  goes  the  further  interest  of  the  strategic 
position  occupied  by  Old  Attic  Comedy  in  the  history 
of  art :  the  mixture  of  tones,  union  of  serious  and  farcical, 
elevated  and  grotesque,  newly  accomplished  almost  by 
accident,  in  all  the  vicissitudes  of  literary  history  never 
to  be  entirely  lost.^ 

III.  Three  works  may  be  named  which,  taken  to- 
gether, will  immerse  the  reader  deep  in  the  literary  life 
of  the  middle  ages.     These  are  the  Romance  of  the  Rose, 

1  Compare  on  the  whole  subject  my  Ancient  Classical  Drama; 
page  265,  and  Chapters  VII-IX  passim. 

f  413  ] 


STRATEGIC  POINTS  IN  LITERATURE 

Reynard  the  Fox,  and  Everyman .  Allusion  has  been  made 
in  a  previous  chapter  to  the  last :  here  we  feel  the  sim- 
plicity of  mediaeval  devotion  cast  its  spell  over  our  own 
distant  age.  Reynard  the  Fox  is  the  mediaeval  counter- 
part of  Msop  in  antiquity ;  readers  interested  in  story- 
tracking  can  see,  in  Mr.  Joseph  Jacobs's  Introduction 
to  jEsop,  how  the  beast  epic  has  prevailed  in  the  varied 
peoples  and  periods.  The  general  spirit  of  the  poem 
may  be  summed  up  in  a  single  line  of  Davenant's : — 

We  blush  to  see  our  politics  in  beasts. 

The  crooked  ways  of  human  kind,  so  famiUar  in  real  life 
that  we  hardly  think  of  them,  take  on  at  once  a  quaint 
humor  by  being  translated  into  ways  of  the  animal  world. 
If  Reynard  be  read  in  the  translation  of  F.  S.  Ellis,  with 
the  illustrative  devices  of  Walter  Crane,  it  will  fully  hold 
its  own  with  modern  books  of  humor.  But  the  most 
important  of  the  three  is  the  Romance  of  the  Rose.  In 
mediaeval  poetry  love  is  a  rehgion,  and  Ovid  is  its  bible ; 
this  poetical  love  in  all  its  length  and  breadth  is  compre- 
hended within  the  long  Romance.  The  breadth  of  treat- 
ment is  favored  by  the  extraordinary  authorship  of  the 
work.  We  are  almost  reminded  of  the  scene  in  the  old 
miracle  play,  where  the  Almighty  for  a  moment  quits 
the  throne  of  the  universe  and  Satan  skips  into  his  place. 
Guillaume  de  Lorris  opens  the  poem :  a  lover,  delicate 
and  dainty ;  in  the  favorite  mediaeval  form  of  allegory  he 
sets  out  to  tell  the  tale,  the  same  in  all  ages  and  never 
wearisome,  of  youth  and  maiden  love.  But  his  work 
is  unfinished,  and  Jean  de  Meun  plunges  in  to  continue 
it :  a  clerk  full  to  his  eyes  with  miscellaneous  learning, 

[414] 


A  MEDIAEVAL  GROUP 

racy  and  vigorous,  with  common  sense  ideas  on  the  re- 
lation of  the  sexes,  and  the  utiHty  of  love  as  a  means  for 
the  propagation  of  the  species.  He  does  carry  on  the 
action,  though  with  such  modifications  as  might  make 
Guillaume  de  Lorris  turn  in  his  grave ;  he  carries  it  for- 
ward only  to  diverge  from  it  in  any  direction  that  prom- 
ises scope  for  pouring  out  his  literary  learning;  from 
these  divergences  there  are  yet  digressions,  and  digres- 
sions which  seem  interminable ;  when  the  reader  is  los- 
ing his  patience  he  may  find  a  warning  against  prolixity. 

Of  prolix  talk  I'd  fain  keep  clear. 

Women  are  liable  to  become 

In  speech  ofttimes  most  troublesome ; 

And  in  good  truth  all  this  I  see 

Before  my  eyes  so  vividly, 

That  since  I  am  of  speaking  fain, 

I  pray  you  list  me  once  again. 

And  the  flood  of  learning  continues  its  course  as  if  it  had 
that  moment  begun.  All  this  means  so  much  more  of 
medisevalism  crowded  into  the  poem.  We  are  told  ^ 
that  ''not  less  than  two  hundred  manuscript  copies  of 
[the  Romance]  have  survived  the  waste  of  centuries 
(while  of  the  ''Canterbury  Tales"  no  more  than  fifty- 
nine  are  known),  and  printed  editions  followed  in  rapid 
succession  from  about  1480  till  1538."  In  reading  the 
three  works,  especially  the  Romance  of  the  Rose,  the  mod- 
ern reader  is  thinking  the  thoughts  and  feeling  the  feel- 
ings that  made  the  everyday  literary  life  of  the  genera- 
tions which  intervened  between  ancient  and  modern 
times. 

1  In  Mr.  Ellis's  Prologue. 
[415] 


STRATEGIC  POINTS  IN  LITERATURE 

IV.  No  persuasion  is  required  in  reconunending  to  the 
reader  Malory's  Morte  d' Arthur  and  Chaucer's  Can- 
terbury Tales.  But  the  interest  of  the  two  may  be  en- 
hanced by  taking  them  together :  in  the  first  we  have 
mediaeval  matter  vivified  by  the  seriousness  of  the  com- 
ing age,  in  the  other  we  have  mediaeval  matter  vivified 
by  modern  humor.  Chaucer,  especially  as  regards  the 
prologue  and  the  principal  tales,  has  won  all  kinds  of 
readers.  The  Morte  d' Arthur  is  not  so  much  a  poem  as 
a  cycle  of  epic  poetry ;  it  represents  a  source  of  poetic 
material  for  other  poets,  from  Wagner  to  Tennyson. 
Here  we  have  mediaeval  chivalry  touched  with  religious 
mysticism.  We  have  further  the  art  of  narration  in  a 
consiunmate  degree,  and  the  author's  absorption  in  his 
story  is  infectious.  In  this  connection  I  am  tempted 
to  quote  an  interesting  passage  in  the  Life  of  William 
Morris. 

During  this  visit  to  Birmingham  Burne-Jones  took  Morris  to 
Cornish's,  the  bookseller's  shop  in  New  Street,  where,  in  accordance 
with  the  leisurely  eighteenth-century  practice  that  still  lingered  in 
provincial  towns,  customers  were  allowed  to  drop  in  and  read  books 
from  the  shelves.  There  Burne-Jones  had  passed  "hundreds  of 
hours  "  in  this  employment ;  and  there  lately  he  had  found  and  begun 
to  read  a  copy  of  Southey's  edition  of  Malory's  "Morte  d'Arthur," 
a  work  till  then  unknown  to  either  of  the  two,  and  one  which  Burne- 
Jones  could  not  afford  to  buy.  Morris  bought  it  at  first  sight,  and  it 
at  once  became  for  both  one  of  their  most  precious  treasures :  so 
precious  that  even  among  their  intimates  there  was  some  shyness 
over  it,  till  a  year  later  they  heard  Rossetti  speak  of  it  and  the  Bible 
as  the  two  greatest  books  in  the  world,  and  their  tongues  were  un- 
loosed by  the  sanction  of  his  authority.^ 

1  J.  W.  Mackail's  Life  of  William  Morris,  Vol.  I,  page  81. 
[416] 


SPENSER,  FROISSART,  CERVANTES 

To  this  may  be  added  the  opinion  expressed  by  Mr.  Fred- 
eric Harrison,  that  the  Enghsh  of  the  Morte  d' Arthur 
is  hardly  second  to  the  Enghsh  of  our  Bible.  ^ 

V.  I  mention  as  a  matter  of  course  the  Faerie  Queene 
of  Spenser.  An  attempt  adequately  to  characterize  this 
work  would  need  not  a  paragraph  but  a  volume :  a 
volume  which  I  hope  some  day  to  be  permitted  to  write. 
For  the  present  purpose  it  is  sufficient  to  allude  to  its 
universally  recognized  position  as  a  common  meeting- 
ground  for  Classical,  Romantic,  and  Puritan.  Spenser 
has  been  traditionally  called  the  poet's  poet :  partly  be- 
cause in  him  the  whole  art  of  poetry  (apart  from  drama) 
is  illustrated  in  its  supreme  form ;  partly  again  because 
the  world  of  the  Faerie  Queene  is  so  purely  creative,  kept 
throughout  at  a  safe  distance  from  the  space  and  time 
world  of  real  hfe. 

VI.  I  would  put  two  works  together:  Froissart's 
Chronicles  and  the  Don  Quixote  of  Cervantes.  The  first 
gives  us  history  :  but  history  inspired  by  chivalry.  It 
is  a  purely  aristocratic  conception  of  life,  in  which  is 
entirely  ignored  the  '' greatest  number,"  whose  interests 
are  paramount  to  our  modern  democratic  spirit,  and 
color  our  conception  of  history.  On  the  other  hand, 
Don  Quixote  stands  at  an  interesting  point  of  historic 
development,  when  the  world  of  chivalry  is  passing  away 
and  the  future  world  of  industry  is  just  rising.  A  wide 
range  is  given  to  the  story  by  the  double  movement  so 
common  in  Shakespeare :  with  Don  Quixote  himself, 
the  knight,  is  forever  associated  the  squire,  Sancho 
Panza.     In  the  first  we  have  the  spirit  of  chivalry  bur- 

1  Essay  on  the  ''Choice  of  Books,"  page  43.     [Macmillan.] 
2b  [417] 


STRATEGIC  POINTS  IN  LITERATURE 

lesqued,  not  without  pathos.  Side  by  side  with  this,  San- 
cho  Panza  keeps  before  us  the  crass  common  sense  of  the 
masses,  for  whom  the  world  of  ideas  has  no  meaning ; 
yet  a  copious  philosophy  exists  for  them  in  the  floating 
popular  proverbs,  which  perhaps  no  country  has  pro- 
duced in  larger  numbers  than  Spain ;  whole  paragraphs 
of  Sancho's  speeches  are  built  up  of  these  proverbs  dove- 
tailed together.  Perhaps  there  is  no  more  universally 
recognized  world  classic  than  Don  Quixote;  and  Mr. 
Frederic  Harrison  goes  so  far  as  to  make  it  a  serio- 
comic analogue  of  Dante's  poem.^ 

VII.  On  the  threshold  of  what  we  call  modern  life 
there  seem  to  stand  two  literary  personalities  of  the  high- 
est rank,  one  with  his  eyes  turned  to  the  mediaevalism 
that  is  passing  away,  the  other  with  his  face  to  the  world 
of  the  future.  These  are  Erasmus  and  Bacon.  Their 
actual  contributions  to  world  literature  may  not  be  great 
in  amount,  for  the  main  work  of  their  lives  was  done  in 
special  fields ;  it  is  as  representative  personalities  that 
they  are  literary  landmarks.  In  Erasmus  all  the  sides 
of  the  Renaissance  meet :  he  is  the  typical  humanist, 
and  yet  the  founder  of  modern  New  Testament 
scholarship ;  when  the  movement  we  call  the  Refor- 
mation began  to  separate  itself  from  the  general  move- 
ment of  the  Renaissance  all  parties  seemed  to  turn 
to  Erasmus  as  the  umpire  whose  adherence  might 
compose  the  strife.  In  pure  literature  Erasmus  is 
known  chiefly  by  two  works.  One  is  the  Colloquies. 
This  sets  out  to  be  a  Latin  Reader  for  beginners,  like 
the  modern  school  books  which  construct  sentences  to 

' !' Choice  of  Books,"  page  58. 
[418] 


ERASMUS  AND  BACON 

the  effect  that  Balbus  is  building,  or  was  building,  or  is 
about  to  build,  a  wall.  In  the  hands  of  Erasmus  the 
school  book  becomes  a  series  of  racy  dialogues,  with 
plenty  of  personality  and  plot ;  a  diversified  picture  is 
presented  of  the  age  and  its  ways  and  customs,  and  great 
novelists  have  pillaged  from  this  school  book  some  of 
their  best  scenes.  But  the  masterpiece  of  Erasmus  is 
the  Praise  of  Folly.  It  is  one  of  the  greatest  pieces  of 
satire  in  all  literature ;  yet,  totally  different  from  the 
heavy  cuts  and  thrusts  of  a  Juvenal  or  Dryden,  it  reads 
hardly  as  satire  at  all,  but  rather  as  delicate  sword 
play  of  prolonged  paradoxical  irony.  The  humor  of 
Erasmus  is  as  modern  as  the  humor  of  Thackeray. 
Folly  puts  on  cap  and  bells,  mounts  a  pulpit,  and  pro- 
nounces a  eulogium  upon  herself,  claiming  as  her  vota- 
ries all  classes,  from  infants  to  grave  divines ;  all  the 
varying  social  types,  as  society  was  moulded  by  medi- 
aeval philosophy,  religion,  learning,  pass  before  us  in 
succession,  all  seen  through  an  atmosphere  which  is 
laughter  without  bitterness.  The  book  is  a  confirma- 
tion of  the  principle  that,  in  the  right  hands,  a  caricature 
may  paint  more  truly  than  a  portrait. 

Bacon  is  traditionally  accepted  as  inaugurator  of 
the  New  Thought :  this  is  our  modern  thought,  the 
foundation  of  that  science  through  which,  for  the 
first  time,  man  knows  the  external  world  in  which  he 
has  been  placed.  Yet  to  make  good  this  description  of 
Bacon  we  have,  as  in  the  case  of  Plato,  to  fall  back 
upon  the  distinction  between  literature  and  philosophy. 
The  formal  philosophical  works  of  Bacon  have  naturally 
become  out  of  date ;  nor  is  it  in  this  field  that  Bacon 

[419] 


STRATEGIC  POINTS  IN  LITERATURE 

is  supreme.  Others  have  been  more  successful  exposi- 
tors and  apphers  of  inductive  science.  Bacon  is  the 
literary  representative  of  the  experimental  philosophy : 
he  gives  us  the  general  mind  of  man  surveying  what 
the  narrower  philosophic  mind  will  achieve,  and  realiz- 
ing for  the  first  time  the  momentous  epoch  in  human 
history  which  the  New  Thought  has  made.  Similarly, 
as  we  have  already  seen,  his  Essays  represent  wisdom 
as  distinguished  from  philosophy.  Perhaps  this  posi- 
tion of  Bacon  comes  out  best  in  his  Advancement  of 
Learning,  that  is  to  say,  in  the  earlier  part  of  the 
book,  before  he  proceeds  to  a  criticism  of  detailed  studies, 
which  of  course  has  now  only  an  antiquarian  interest. 
Beyond  any  special  writings  however  of  Bacon,  the 
general  conception  of  his  personality  makes  a  point  for 
world  literature.  It  is  natural  to  quote  here  the  well- 
known  epigram  of  Cowley.  — 

Bacon,  like  Moses,  led  us  forth  at  last ; 
The  barren  -^vilderness  he  pass'd, 

Did  on  the  very  border  stand 

Of  the  bless'd  Promised  Land, 
And  from  the  mountain-top  of  his  exalted  vnt 
Saw  it  himself,  and  showed  us  it. 

VIII.  From  France  come  the  great  names  of  Moliere 
and  Racine :  how  are  we  to  place  these  dramatists  in 
a  general  \'iew  of  our  world  literature  ?  It  seems  as  if 
the  stars  of  the  literary  heavens  are  often  double  or 
triple  stars :  I  mean,  that  to  catch  the  full  significance 
of  some  poet,he  must  be  taken  in  antithesis  with  others. 
Such  a  sidereal  triplet  may  be  found  in  the  three, 
Mohere,  Shakespeare,  Victor  Hugo.    All  are  consum- 

[420] 


MOLIERE  AND  RACINE 

mate  artists  in  drama,  each  after  his  kind.  By  Mohere 
the  ancient  conception  of  comedy  is  worked  out  in 
modern  hfe.  As  we  have  had  occasion  to  remark 
more  than  once,  all  Greek  and  Roman  drama  is  drama 
of  situation.  The  stage  limitations  of  its  origin  were 
never  shaken  off ;  ancient  plot  (if  the  comparison  may 
be  pardoned)  was  a  narrow-necked  bottle,  which  forced 
the  fulness  of  a  story  to  be  poured  through  a  single 
fixed  scene.  Of  course,  this  form  of  action  brought 
advantages  of  concentration  and  emphasis  to  compen- 
sate for  limitation  of  matter.  Moliere  accepts  this 
conception  of  antiquity  ^ :  but  his  comedy  of  situation  is 
applied  to  our  modern  life.  Plautus  and  Terence,  with 
all  their  cleverness  of  plot,  present  narrow  and  worn- 
out  types ;  the  situations  of  the  French  dramatist  are 
bright  with  varied  and  subtly  conceived  humors  of  a 
fully  developed  human  nature.  With  Shakespeare  it  is 
different :  his  is  romantic  drama,  that  gives  full  play 
to  the  progress  of  story,  and  of  many  stories ;  human 
interest  can  abound,  without  any  special  need  for 
emphasizing  peculiar  situations.  Victor  Hugo  as  a 
dramatist  is  influenced  from  opposite  sides :  on  the 
one  hand,  he  feels  the  French  tendency  to  drama  of 
situation;  on  the  other  hand,  as  devoted  admirer  of 
Shakespeare,  and  with  a ,  temperament  overpoweringly 
democratic,  he  is  attracted  in  the  direction  of  romance. 
The  result  is  what  may  be  called  the  romantic  drama 
of  situation:  Victor  Hugo  makes  place  for  enlarged 
human  interest,  but  he  finds  it  by  deepening  his  situa- 

'  Not  of  course  limitation  to  a  single  scene :  but  his  few  scenes 
make  a  single  situation  of  affairs. 

[421] 


STRATEGIC  POINTS  IN  LITERATURE 

tions  rather  than  by  extending  the  flow  of  action.^ 
The  hterary  world  becomes  enriched  by  three  contrast- 
ing types  of  dramatic  treatment,  each  justified  by  its 
results. 

Racine  also  may  be  made  one  of  a  trio,  with  Eurip- 
ides and  Seneca.  There  is  obviously  a  superficial 
connection  between  the  three,  that  the  form  of  a  cient 
tragedy  is  maintained;  Mr.  Frederic  Harrison  char- 
acterizes the  plays  of  Racine  as  tableaux  of  antiquity.^ 
But  the  differences  are  fundamental.  In  Euripides 
ancient  tragedy  has  fulness  of  life;  the  Chorus  is  a 
living  chorus,  a  portion  of  the  audience  projected  into 
the  imagined  incidents,  forcing  unity  of  impression 
throughout.  With  Seneca  drama  in  the  strict  sense  is 
dead :  the  plays  are  not  for  acting,  and  the  Chorus  is 
no  more  than  an  appendage  to  the  other  dramatis 
personce.  Yet  a  new  galvanic  life  has  come  in,  of 
rhetoric :  characters,  plot,  lyrics,  are  with  Seneca  only 
collections  of  opportunities  for  rhetoric  exuberance.^ 
With  Racine  tragedy  has  come  to  life  again  —  the 
life  of  passion.  The  Chorus  (in  the  Greek  sense)  is 
gone,  but  much  of  its  binding  force  on  the  unity  of  plot 
remains.  It  is  tragedy  of  situation  :  but  the  situations 
are  handled  by  Racine  so  as  to  give  the  widest  scope  for 
force  and  play  of  human  passions.  No  drama  depends 
upon  the  acting  so  much  as  the  drama  of  Racine. 

1  Compare  my  Introduction  to  Dr.  J.  D.  Bruner's  Studies  in  Victor 
Hugo's  Dramatic  Characters  [Ginn  &  Co.]. 

2  "Choice  of  Books,"  pages  53-54. 

»  The  tragedy  of  Seneca  is  fully  discussed  in  my  Ancient  Classical 
Drama,  Chapter  V.     For  translation  see  below,  page  492. 

[422] 


ROMANTIC  EPIC 

IX,  World  literature  has  few  greater  artists  than 
Sir  Walter  Scott :  to  lose  the  taste  for  Scott  is  usually 
symptom  of  a  jaded  palate,  produced  by  over-much 
criticism,  or  by  that  bias  towards  the  exceptional 
which  so  often  mistakes  itself  for  superiority.  Popular 
instinct  was  right  in  recognizing  the  Waverley  Novels 
as  making  a  new  literary  era.  Not  that  the  appear- 
ance of  Scott  stands  alone;  it  is  part  of  a  series  of 
literary  phenomena,  the  most  conspicuous  of  which  are 
the  Ossian  of  Macpherson  and  the  Percy  Ballads. 
The  whole  amounts  to  a  new  departure  for  epic  poetry : 
its  form,  verse  or  prose ;  its  field,  the  matter  of  romance. 
The  tendency  to  limit  the  term  ''epic"  to  literature  of 
which  Homer  is  the  great  type  is  a  mistake,  due  partly 
to  critical  conservatism,  partly  to  the  widespread  con- 
fusion between  poetry  and  verse.  It  is  entirely  in 
accordance  with  the  rest  of  literary  evolution  that 
narrative  creation  should  cease  to  be  bound  by  verse, 
and  express  itself  with  all  degrees  of  rhythmic  freedom. 
And  another  change  is  natural.  The  oldest  epics  are 
the  product  of  floating  literature;  in  the  struggle  for 
existence  that  this  implies  it  readily  happens  that  a 
few  stories  survive,  and  draw  into  themselves  matter 
originally  belonging  to  other  stories.  In  the  totally 
different  conditions  of  literature  fixed  by  writing  epic 
creation  will  crystallize  in  variety  of  stories.  Scott's 
poems  and  novels  constitute  Romantic  Epic :  stories 
separate  and  independent  represent  various  parts  of 
the  whole  field  of  romance,  yet  the  totality  of  his  works 
may  be  regarded  as  an  epic  whole  that  compares  with 
the  grand  epics  of  antiquity. 

[423] 


STRATEGIC  POINTS  IN  LITERATURE 

As  it  appears  to  me,  one  name  may  in  this  connection 
be  associated  with  that  of  Sir  Walter  Scott :  the  name 
of  Sienkiewicz.  Here  we  have  Romantic  Epic,  not 
turned  in  a  variety  of  directions,  but  concentrated 
upon  one  field  —  that  of  Slav  mediaeval  life,  a  lost  star 
of  historic  brilliance.  To  the  greater  part  of  English 
readers  Sienkiewicz  is  known  mainly  by  his  Quo  Vadis, 
a  great  story,  but  one  by  no  means  specially  characteris- 
tic of  its  author.  It  is  only  in  his  novels  of  Polish  life 
that  the  full  power  of  Sienkiewicz  is  shown,  especially 
the  trilogy  of  the  Zagloba  Romances  —  With  Fire  and 
Sword,  The  Deluge,  Pan  Michael.  Here,  in  the  same 
romantic  atmosphere  which  belongs  to  the  works  of 
Scott,  we  have  the  most  powerful  characterization  and 
passion,  and  an  absolutely  illimitable  fertility  of 
stirring  incident.  And  as  a  bright  thread  running 
through  the  whole  we  have  the  personality  of  Zagloba, 
the  only  figure  that  can  be  put  by  the  side  of  Falstaff ; 
that  is  to  say,  we  have  here  the  outside  of  a  Falstaff 
with  a  heart  of  gold.  Of  course,  detailed  comparison 
would  be  impossible :  how  can  the  medium  of  drama, 
which  concentrates  a  personality  in  a  few  scenes,  be  set 
over  against  the  medium  of  sustained  epic,  that  will 
spread  a  similar  personality  over  a  long  succession  of 
detailed  incidents?  Zagloba  is  not  the  least  im- 
portant element  in  the  Polish  trilogy ;  it  thus  appears 
that  Romantic  Epic,  like  Romantic  Drama,  owes  great 
part  of  its  general  power  to  the  mixture  of  tones. 

X.  One  name  in  the  world's  literature  stands  quite 
by  itself :  a  Peak  of  Teneriffe  in  the  literary  landscape. 
This  is   Rabelais.     Not   that  he  has  not  influenced 

[424] 


BALZAC  AND  VICTOR  HUGO 

followers,  like  Swift ;  but  imitations  of  Rabelais  are  of 
only  passing  importance,  while  not  to  know  the  original 
is  not  to  know  hterature.  It  will  not  do  to  make  too 
much  of  the  satiric  profundity  which  some  see  in  this 
writer;  Rabelais  is  rather  to  be  approached  as  a  phe- 
nomenon of  literatiu-e,  compelling  by  its  extraordinari- 
ness.  It  is  a  sort  of  literary  inebriety :  we  have  the 
elephantine  gambolling  of  the  highest  genius  in  the 
field  of  pure  nonsense,  with  an  indecency  so  colossal 
as  to  be  harmless.  Rabelaisism  leads  nowhere,  and 
connects  itself  with  nothing,  but  while  it  lasts  it  is  as 
irresistible  as  a  winter  torrent.  We  have  here  a  region 
of  world  literature  which  every  traveller  needs  to  visit, 
while  few  will  wish  to  stay  there  long. 

XI.  From  France  again  world  literature  gains  a 
double  star  of  the  first  magnitude :  this  time  in  the 
field  of  the  novel.  We  naturally  put  side  by  side 
Balzac  and  Victor  Hugo.  Both  represent  the  highest 
creative  genius  brought  to  bear  upon  the  delineation 
of  human  nature.  Balzac  was  an  ardent  admirer  of 
Sir  Walter  Scott :  yet  no  two  things  called  by  the  same 
name  could  be  more  unlike  than  the  Waverley  novels 
and  the  novels  of  Balzac.  The  name  by  which  the 
Frenchman  described  his  life  work,  actual  and  pro- 
jected, was  Comedie  Humaine,  of  course  in  antithesis 
to  the  Divine  Comedy  of  Dante.  This  Comedy  of 
Humanity  was  story  worked  out,  not  with  epic,  but 
with  dramatic  spirit :  its  action  turning  upon  intrigue, 
its  motives  always  pathological.  And  it  is  worked  out 
in  the  real  world  of  French  social  life.  Victor  Hugo 
might  well  have  called  his  fiction  by  the  name  of 

1425] 


STRATEGIC  POINTS  IN  LITERATURE 

Tragedie  Humaine.  It  is  a  presentation  of  real  life 
much  wider  in  its  range  than  the  hfe  presented  by 
Balzac ;  comprehending  the  highest  and  the  lowest 
social  strata,  extending  beyond  the  life  of  France,  and 
beyond  the  age  contemporary  with  the  author.  But 
its  great  distinction  is  that  it  presents  real  life  irradiated 
with  single  ideas,  ideas  which  Hugo  uses  all  his  sledge- 
hammer force  to  emphasize  and  make  as  dominant  as 
the  idea  of  Destiny  in  the  tragedy  of  Greece.  In  the 
Hunchback  of  Notre  Dame  we  have  society  in  the  grasp 
of  Ecclesiasticism,  at  a  time  when  the  Church  is  at  its 
full  strength;  in  U Homme  qui  rit,  we  have  society 
in  the  grasp  of  Aristocracy,  the  scene  laid  in  aristo- 
cratic England  before  the  democratic  movement  has 
begun.  In  the  Toilers  of  the  Sea,  the  dominant  idea  is 
Labor,  as  an  inspiration  and  as  a  tyranny.  And 
Les  MiseraUes  is  dominated  by  the  supreme  motive  of 
Sin  and  Redemption.  When  we  thus  bring  together 
Balzac  and  Victor  Hugo,  we  realize  how,  in  the  de- 
lineation of  human  nature,  France  with  its  novelists 
makes  a  counterpoise  to  England  with  its  drama. 

XII.  The  approach  and  actual  opening  of  the 
nineteenth  century  shows  England  leading  world 
literature  in  a  reaction  against  the  conventional  poetry 
that  had  almost  frozen  inspiration  to  death,  under  the 
oligarchical  influence  of  Dryden,  Pope,  and  Samuel 
Johnson.  This  reaction  is  represented  chiefly  by  two 
poets,  who  are  naturally  named  together  by  way  of 
contrast  —  Byron  and  Wordsworth.  Byron  rose  be- 
fore Europe  with  brilliant  rush,  attracting  universal 
attention,  Goethe  himself  leading  the  applause :  it  is  a 

[426  1 


BYRON  AND  WORDSWORTH 

question  whether  the  image  of  the  rocket  must  not  be 
carried  to  completion  in  his  case.  Yet  the  poems  of 
Byron  belong  to  world  literature,  as  embodying  one 
phase  of  the  general  reaction :  an  impulse  to  escape 
stagnation  at  all  costs ;  an  impulse  often  described  by 
the  word  ''demonic";  a  movement  away  from  con- 
vention, whether  it  be  conventional  good  or  evil,  and 
in  any  direction,  provided  only  there  is  a  sense  of 
momentum.  Wordsworth  is  totally  different :  he  is 
represented  by  the  cry,  Back  to  Nature.  Nature, 
perpetual  theme  of  poetry,  had,  by  the  wearing  thin  of 
the  classical  tradition,  been  attenuated  with  iterations 
and  echoes  of  echoes,  till  it  had  become  a  mere 
conventional  thing  without  any  reality.  Wordsworth 
seeks  contact  at  first  hand  with  Nature,  all  traditions 
thrown  aside ;  with  external  Nature,  and  with  the 
humanity  that  in  daily  life  is  closest  to  Nature.  From 
the  English  point  of  view,  at  all  events,  Wordsworth 
is  the  prophet  of  External  Nature,  and  the  revealer  of 
the  sincere  and  profound  sentiment  which  the  visible 
world  can  call  forth  in  a  sensitive  soul,  a  sentiment 
which  opens  a  new  era  for  poetic  literature. 

The  literature  of  our  own  times  I  have  left  almost 
untouched.  Not  that  it  would  not  have  full  relevance 
to  the  subject  of  this  work  :  it  is  a  feature  of  the  present 
age  that  the  leading  peoples  of  the  world  are  drawing 
nearer  to  one  another,  as  if  making  a  common  reading 
circle  to  which  the  best  products  of  each  people  will 
appeal.  And  the  different  literatures  can  produce 
each  its  roll  of  names,  for  which  plausible  claims  can  be 

[427] 


STRATEGIC  POINTS  IN  LITERATURE 

made  to  the  position  of  great  masters.  But  we  are 
too  near  them  to  judge  these  claims,  and  to  attempt 
the  difficult  distinction  between  what  is  of  local  and 
temporary,  and  what  is  of  permanent  value.  With  the 
great  body  of  readers  present-day  literature  may  safely 
be  left  to  take  care  of  itself;  there  is  moreover  no 
lack  of  well-equipped  critics  and  essajdsts  ready,  not 
only  to  discuss  current  literature,  but  to  give  the  im- 
pression that  there  is  nothing  else  worth  discussing. 
To  my  own  mind,  a  more  serious  consideration  seems 
to  be  the  danger  that,  at  the  present  time,  literary  taste 
may  divorce  itself  from  literary  history.  To  be  thor- 
oughly grounded  in  the  hterature  of  the  past,  more 
especially  in  that  perspective  view  of  the  past  which  in 
this  work  it  is  attempted  to  secure,  this  makes  the 
best  attitude  of  mind  with  which  to  approach  the  htera- 
ture of  the  present. 


[428 


CHAPTER  X 

WORLD    LITERATURE    AS   THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF 
CIVILIZATION 

A  NATIONAL  literature,  it  is  generally  recognized, 
is  a  reflection  of  the  national  history.  Literature 
is  much  more  than  a  product  of  the  individual.  A 
lunatic  —  to  take  the  ad  absurdum  degree  of  indi- 
viduality —  may  write  a  book,  and,  if  he  can  com- 
mand funds,  may  get  his  book  printed  and  published : 
but  it  will  take  some  degree  of  public  acceptance, 
acceptance  at  the  time  or  in  the  future,  to  convert 
that  book  into  literature.  Books  as  books  reflect  their 
authors ;  as  literature,  they  reflect  the  public  opinion 
which  gives  them  endorsement.  Thus  a  national 
literature  as  a  whole  is  seen  to  reflect  the  successive 
stages,  or  accidental  phases,  through  which  the  history 
of  the  nation  has  passed.  And  this  principle  will  seem 
the  truer  in  proportion  as  our  conception  of  history  is 
more  adequate.  At  first,  it  might  seem  as  if  only  cer- 
tain kinds  of  literature  would  serve  to  reflect  national 
history.  Authors  are  free  to  take  topics  remote  from 
their  own  day  and  generation;  they  may,  and  often 
do,  create  for  themselves  purely  ideal  worlds.  Swin- 
burne, in  the  nineteenth  century,  produces  dramas  in 
Greek  form  which  read  as  purely  Greek  in  their  matter 

[429] 


WORLD  LITERATURE 

and  thought  as  if  they  were  plays  of  ^schylus  or 
Sophocle^  Spenser's  Faerie  Queene  depends  for  its 
main  interest  upon  the  degree  in  which  its  incidents 
are  kept  at  a  distance  from  real  Ufe :  how,  it  might  be 
objected,  can  the  Erechtheus  and  the  Atalanta  in  Calydon 
be  said  to  reflect  nineteenth-century  England,  or  the 
Faerie  Queene  the  age  of  Elizabeth  ?  The  answer 
depends  upon  the  idea  we  hold  as  to  the  meaning  of 
history.  At  a  time  when  feudal  conceptions  were  still 
strong,  history  meant  dynastic  history,  and  confined 
itself  to  the  concerns  of  the  reigning  families  and  of 
those  closely  associated  with  them.  Then  history 
widened,  and  became  the  record  of  public  events  in 
general.  It  widened  further,  to  take  in  the  manners 
and  customs  of  a  country :  instead  of  the  history  of 
England  we  had  the  history  of  the  English  people. 
Yet  its  scope  is  wider  than  this,  and  includes  a  nation's 
ideas  and  tastes.  A  man's  character  is  not  made  by 
what  he  does  only,  but  by  what  he  loves  and  hates  and 
wishes;  the  most  important  element  in  the  character 
may  be  made  by  the  man's  unfulfilled  aspirations. 
So  it  is  an  important  item  of  English  history  that  a 
nineteenth-century  Englishman  was  profoundly  inter- 
ested, and  could  interest  those  about  him,  in  the  Greek 
point  of  view  of  two  thousand  years  before ;  it  is 
another  item  of  English  history  that  an  Elizabethan 
reading  public  had  strength  of  imagination  to  be 
enthusiastic  over  idealized  shadows.  The  wider  our 
sense  of  the  historic,  the  more  fully  shall  we  see  in  a 
national  literature  the  reflection  of  the  national  history. 
Now,  the  principle  that  is  true  for  the  smaller  unit 

[430] 


THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  CIVILIZATION 

of  the  nation  holds  good  equally  for  the  larger  unit  of 
civilization. 

The  physical  sciences  have  one  advantage  over  the 
studies  we  group  together  under  the  name  of  the  hu- 
manities :  in  the  physical  sciences  it  is  so  easy  to  realize 
the  common  ground  between  them.  The  geologist, 
the  chemist,  the  physiologist,  the  psychologist,  with  all 
their  differences  of  field  and  method,  are  perfectly  aware 
that  they  are  all  studying  the  same  one  thing,  which 
they  call  by  some  such  name  as  nature.  But  what  is 
the  common  ground  between  the  humanity  studies? 
We  must  not  answer,  Man :  for  that  brings  us  into 
the  sphere  of  sciences  like  anthropology  or  sociology. 
The  question  is  difficult,  but  perhaps  the  best  answer 
is  that  the  common  object  of  the  humanity  studies  is 
Civilization.  But  if  this  is  correct,  then  it  must  be 
admitted  that  our  humanity  studies  are  organized  in  a 
way  to  defeat  their  chief  aim ;  they  are  found  to  con- 
centrate attention  on  the  surface  variations  of  civiliza- 
tion, and  to  leave  the  thing  itself  almost  untouched. 
Take  four  neighbor  nations,  English,  French,  German, 
Italian  ;  bring  representative  men  of  these  four  nations 
together :  it  will  immediately  appear  that  the  national 
distinctions  separating  the  four  are  infinitesimally 
small  in  comparison  with  the  common  civilization  that 
binds  them  together.  If  they  have  some  means  of 
getting  over  the  practical  difficulty  of  language,  then 
they  can  converse  together  with  easy  community  of 
feeling,  to  which  their  national  peculiarities  do  no  more 
than  give  a  flavor  of  variety.  Add  to  their  company 
a  Turk  or  a  Malay :   in  contact  with  the  strange  civi- 

1431] 


WORLD  LITERATURE 

lization  the  first  four  feel  themselves  a  unit.  Yet  it  is 
the  separate  languages  with  their  separate  literatures 
and  histories  that  make  the  humanity  studies :  the 
common  civilization  is  almost  entirely  left  out.  The 
effect  is  as  if,  in  studying  grammar,  we  were  painfully 
to  memorize  long  lists  of  exceptions  and  forget  to  learn 
the  rules ;  or  as  if,  in  medical  art,  we  were  to  arrange 
elaborate  systems  of  instruction  separately  for  the 
training  of  expert  oculists  and  expert  aurists,  while 
leaving  the  general  physiology  and  pathology  of  the 
human  body  to  be  picked  up  by  these  oculists  and 
aurists  in  chance  readings  of  their  leisure  moments. 

The  Englishman  naturally  desires  to  understand 
English  civilization  and  culture.  But  the  knowledge 
of  this  will  not  be  given  him  by  the  history  of  England. 
When  the  land  of  Britain  was  invaded  by  Julius  Caesar, 
and  the  English  race  was  so  immersed  in  the  darkness 
of  European  antiquities  that  it  is  difficult  to  identify 
it  —  in  other  words,  when  the  history  of  England  was 
in  its  first  faint  beginnings  —  at  that  time  the  foun- 
dations of  English  civilization  and  culture  had  been 
laid  long  before,  and  the  edifice  was  far  advanced 
towards  its  completion.  A  foundation  step  had  been 
taken  centuries  and  centuries  before,  when,  in  the 
far-off  region  of  Mesopotamia,  Abraham  had  set  out 
on  his  profoundly  original  journey  of  exploration,  "to 
a  country  that  God  should  give  him":  a  migration 
to  found  a  race  that  should  be  separated  from  other 
races,  not  by  geography  or  ethnology,  but  by  the 
cherishing  of  a  spiritual  instinct  which  should  develop 
in  the  course  of  centuries  into  a  force  strong  enough 

1432] 


THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  CIVILIZATION 

to  determine  the  whole  spiritual  side  of  English  and 
kindred  civilizations.  Again,  for  centuries  and  cen- 
turies before  that  opening  of  English  history,  another 
leading  element  of  English  civilization  had  been  in 
progress,  when,  amid  the  ripening  life  of  Greek  races, 
competing  rhapsodists,  and  later  competing  dramatists, 
filled  with  poetic  enthusiasm,  had  been  unconsciously 
framing  the  laws  of  rhythm  and  conceptions  of  what 
constitutes  beauty,  such  as  would  eventually  mould 
the  taste  and  literary  sense  of  English  and  European 
peoples.  In  the  same  remote  period,  though  some- 
what later,  another  stage  in  the  creation  of  English 
civilization  had  been  won  when  Greek  sophists,  search- 
ing into  the  mystery  of  the  world  around  them  no  longer 
explained  by  religion,  fell  gradually  into  habits  of  think- 
ing which  were  destined,  eventually,  to  make  for 
English  culture  its  logical  sense  and  impulse  to  scientific 
truth.  Some  three  centuries  before  that  beginning  of 
English  history  the  great  crisis  in  the  history  of  EngHsh 
and  European  civilization  had  been  passed,  when 
Macedonian  conquerors,  spreading  on  all  sides  Greek 
language  and  culture,  unconsciously  brought  about 
the  blending  of  Hellenic  with  Hebraic,  which  deter- 
mined once  for  all  the  quality  of  human  thought  and 
character  that  should  eventually  dominate  the  western 
world.  Before  invasions  like  those  of  Hengist  and 
Horsa  had  made  a  second  beginning  for  the  history  of 
England,  the  structure  of  English  civilization  had 
attained  its  definite  form  in  the  Christianization  of  the 
Roman  Empire,  the  interplay  of  State  and  Church, 
of  imperial  government  and  clerical  culture,  by  which 

2f  [433] 


WORLD  LITERATURE 

the  modern  world  was  to  be  slowly  moulded.  It  is  a 
worthy  task  of  a  history  to  trace  the  development  of 
English  nationality ;  but  nationality  is  itself  a  late 
idea,  belonging  to  the  closing  stages  of  mediaevalism, 
and  before  this  the  real  English  culture  is  the  culture 
of  Europe.  We  hear  of  the  introduction  of  Christianity 
into  England  in  one  century,  of  the  Norman  Conquest 
of  England  in  another  century :  what  these  events 
mean  is  that  solitary  England  is  by  revolution  plunged 
into  the  life  stream  of  European  civilization.  Later  on, 
when  it  can  be  seen  that  the  English  people  are  strong 
in  national  individuality,  it  yet  remains  true  that  the 
main  forces  in  the  progress  of  their  civilization  are 
found  outside  —  feudal  courts  and  their  circle  of  poetic 
aspirants;  streams  of  traditional  story  from  all  quar- 
ters pouring  in  to  a  Europe  that  is  a  literary  unity ; 
Saracen  civilization  coming  into  rivalry  and  conflict 
with  a  Christian  civilization  thus  led  to  feel  still  more 
strongly  its  own  strength;  clerical  disputers  uniting 
faith  and  philosophy  in  a  new  logic ;  clerical  poets 
making  an  allegorical  religion  of  love ;  Italian  priest- 
craft playing  against  German  zeal  for  reform,  with 
renovated  Greek  learning  as  a  third  issue.  When  the 
whole  area  of  the  history  of  England  has  been  traversed, 
nine-tenths  of  the  history  of  English  civilization  and 
culture  has  been  left  outside. 

Nor  can  the  knowledge  of  our  civilization  and  culture 
be  attained  by  any  process  of  simple  addition.  I  sup- 
pose that  the  theory  of  the  humanity  studies  —  if 
there  be  a  theory  —  is  that  we  should  master  our  Eng- 
lish language  and  literature,  and  add  to  this  French 

[434] 


THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  CIVILIZATION 

language  and  literature,  to  this  German,  Greek,  Latin, 
and  the  rest.  The  programme  seems  a  long  one, 
enough  to  fill  the  whole  length  of  an  ordinary  life. 
But  when  this  programme  has  been  carried  to  com- 
pletion, we  have  still  not  really  commenced  our  study 
of  civilization :  we  have  merely  been  getting  our 
materials  together.  The  civilization  and  culture  in 
which  we  make  a  part  can  be  studied  only  by  a  process 
similar  in  kind  to  that  which  in  the  present  work  has 
been  applied  to  literature.  We  must  take  our  stand 
at  the  point  where  we  find  ourselves,  and,  looking  from 
that  point  in  all  directions,  we  must  bring  perspective 
into  play :  we  must  distinguish  what  from  our  view- 
point is  great  and  what  small,  what  is  essential  and 
what  less  essential,  and  with  such  perspective  view 
ever  maintained  we  must  bring  our  constructive  powers 
into  action. 

Of  course,  it  is  the  function  of  history  to  do  all  this ; 
history,  besides  dealing  with  individual  nations  or 
epochs,  undertakes  to  trace  for  us  the  development  of 
civilization.  But  just  here  the  principle  comes  in 
which  it  is  the  purpose  of  this  chapter  to  emphasize : 
namely,  that  as  a  national  literature  is  the  reflection  of 
the  national  history,  so  in  world  literature  is  reflected 
the  course  of  civilization.  The  literary  unit  we  call 
the  Holy  Bible  dramatizes  for  us,  as  we  have  seen,  the 
evolution  through  the  ages  of  those  conceptions  which 
are  the  foundation  of  our  spiritual  nature.  Greek  epics 
and  dramas,  not  to  mention  other  productions  of  the 
Greeks,  not  only  gratify  our  poetic  taste,  but  are  the 
very  instrument  by  which  that  taste  has  been  created. 

[435] 


WORLD  LITERATURE 

Shakespeare  appears  before  us,  not  simply  as  a  repre- 
sentative of  Elizabethan  England  —  though  of  course 
that  view  of  him  is  interesting  —  but  as  a  force  in 
civilization,  by  which  the  slow  accumulations  of  ro- 
mance were  struck  into  new  life  by  impact  of  a  drama- 
tizing power  imported  from  the  classical  east.  Medi- 
aeval culture,  which  is  part  of  our  culture,  is  highly 
complex,  full  of  difficulties  and  unfamiliarities :  in  the 
Divine  Comedy  all  that  is  most  important  in  mediaeval 
culture  lights  up  for  us  with  the  illumination  of  su- 
preme poetic  genius.  In  the  history  of  England,  at  the 
moment  when  the  Restoration  was  a  thing  accom- 
plished and  the  nation  firmly  determined  to  keep  its 
monarchy,  it  became  a  matter  of  trifling  importance 
whether  the  man  Milton  should  be  hanged  as  a  warn- 
ing to  rebels,  or  as  an  extinct  force  be  suffered  to  live 
on  in  obscurity.  To  civilization  it  was  of  prime  import 
that  he  lived  on,  and  his  mind  became  a  powerful 
reflector,  which  could  catch  rays  coming  from  Puritan 
thought  on  the  one  side,  and  rays  from  classical  form 
on  the  other  side,  and  focus  them  into  a  clear  image  by 
which  world  literature  gained  what  it  could  have  gained 
from  no  other  source.  When  the  mediaeval  unity  of 
Europe  breaks  up  into  modern  nationalities  the  history 
of  civilization  becomes  increasingly  complex :  we  gain 
assistance  from  literature  when  we  see  some  of  these 
national  differentiations  —  English  Elizabethanism, 
Catholic  Spain,  German  culture,  nineteenth-century 
mysticism  —  obligingly  cooperate  in  moulding  the 
same  Faust  story  to  reflect  for  us  their  divergent  points 
of  view.     In  the  study  of  world  literature  we  get  devel- 

[436] 


THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  CIVILIZATION 

oped  the  comparative  habit  of  mind,  which  acts  as  a 
lens  to  bring  together  resemblances  and  contrasts  from 
all  parts  of  the  complex  civihzation.  It  is  the  function 
of  history  to  lead  us  by  philosophical  analysis  to  the 
understanding  of  civilization  and  culture :  world  lit- 
erature is  civilization  presented  by  itself. 

Hence  we  may  speak  of  World  Literature  as  the 
Autobiography  of  Civilization.  For  what  is  auto- 
biography ?  An  individual,  wise  with  advancing  years, 
and  at  all  events  old  enough  to  feel  that  his  life  is  not 
an  aggregation  of  accidents,  but  a  unity  with  a  sig- 
nificance, sets  out  to  interpret  his  life  to  others.  His 
interpretation  may  of  course  fall  into  error.  But  we 
feel  that  autobiography  is  never  so  soundly  autobio- 
graphical as  where  the  writer,  instead  of  discussing  his 
life,  is  presenting  it :  in  his  letters  and  correspondence, 
in  his  conversations  and  discourses,  in  his  original 
compositions,  whatever  the  special  output  of  the  life 
may  be.  The  history  of  civilization  corresponds  to  the 
formal  discussion  of  the  life.  World  Literature  is 
autobiography  in  the  sense  that  it  is  the  presentation  of 
civihzation  in  its  own  best  products,  its  most  signifi- 
cant moments  emphasized  as  they  appear  illuminated 
with  the  highest  literary  setting. 


[437] 


CONCLUSION 

THE    PLACE   OF  WORLD   LITERATURE   IN   EDUCATION 


CONCLUSION 

THE    PLACE   OF   WORLD   LITERATURE   IN   EDUCATION 

THIS  book  has  been  written  from  the  standpoint  of 
education :  ahke  formal  academic  education  and 
that  half-involuntary  self-education  which  fills  the 
lives  of  thinkers  and  readers.  Its  general  drift  has  been 
that  literature,  traditionally  foremost  of  studies,  has 
fallen  behind  in  educational  evolution ;  that,  although 
nterary  intermingled  with  historic  and  linguistic  matter 
occupies  a  large  share  of  attention,  nevertheless  litera- 
ture itself  has  yet  to  be  precipitated  as  an  independent 
study ;  further,  that  to  recognize  fully  the  unity  of  the 
whole  literary  field  is  the  indispensable  condition  for 
restoring  literary  study  to  its  fundamental  position  in 
the  humanities  side  of  education.  I  have  ventured  to 
formulate  these  ideas,  or  at  least  one  aspect  of  them, 
in  the  name  World  Literature.  Such  World  Litera- 
ture is  a  paramount  interest  for  the  man  of  culture. 
And  in  academic  activity  World  Literature  has  a 
field,  a  method,  and  a  scholarship  of  its  own,  quite 
distinct  from  the  field  and  method  and  scholarship  of 
existing  literary  studies. 

If  education  be  surveyed  from  this  point  of  view, 
what  most  obviously  attracts  attention  is  the  study  we 
call  Classics.  This  is  the  departmental  study  of  Latin 
and  Greek.     However  high  may  be  the  value  of  this 

[441] 


WORLD  LITERATURE 

study  on  other  grounds,  yet  it  proves  totally  inadequate 
if  considered  as  a  training  in  literature.  For  the  best 
of  its  students  the  literary  culture  it  has  brought  must 
be  pronounced  not  catholic,  but  provincial.  For  the 
vast  majority  of  those  who  have  passed  through  a 
classical  course  there  has  been  no  training  in  literature 
at  all.  And  it  is  easy  to  see  how  this  has  come  about. 
Our  conceptions  of  education  date  from  the  period  of 
the  Renaissance.  At  that  time  classical  studies  made 
the  'piece  de  resistance  of  the  whole  structure  of  culture, 
and  were  admirably  fitted  for  the  purpose,  from  their 
even  balance  between  linguistic  disciphne  and  literature 
of  the  highest  order.  But  inevitably  in  the  course  of 
time  other  studies  invaded  the  educational  programme, 
diminishing  the  proportion  of  the  whole  which  could  be 
allotted  to  Classics.  Now,  all  this  diminution  in  the 
attention  given  to  classical  study  was  a  diminution 
made  from  its  literary  side,  since  the  literary  culture 
does  not  commence  until  the  difficult  Latin  and  Greek 
languages  have  been  thoroughly  mastered.  Accord- 
ingly, while  education  as  a  whole  has  been  advancing, 
the  amount  of  hterary  training  afforded  by  classical 
studies  has  been  proportionately  diminishing  ;  until  — 
apart  from  a  small  body  of  exceptional  students  —  the 
whole  effect  of  Classics  is  linguistic  training,  and  the 
study  is  for  the  most  part  advocated  for  its  disciphnary 
value. 

Let  it  be  clearly  understood  that  I  am  not  attempting 
to  balance  the  relative  value  of  linguistic  and  literary 
training.  Such  a  question  cannot  be  discussed  in  gen- 
eral terms,  but  is  bound  up  with  the  special  circum- 

[442] 


AN  ESSENTIAL  OF  GENERAL  CULTURE 

stances  of  particular  students  or  institutions.  To 
those  who  take  the  position  that  they  have  not  time 
for  literature,  having  more  important  work  to  do,  there 
is  nothing  more  to  be  said.  But  the  vast  majority  of 
those  who  enter  upon  classical  studies  do  so  in  the 
belief  that  they  are  engaging  in  the  study  of  literature ; 
for  these  it  becomes  necessary  to  point  out  that,  as 
things  stand,  the  literary  training  has  evaporated  out  of 
the  study  of  Classics  in  all  but  a  few  exceptional  cases. 
Some  suspicion  of  this,  I  believe,  underlies  the  objections 
we  sometimes  hear  put  forward  against  literary  culture 
in  general,  as  compared  with  scientific  or  practical 
education.  I  believe  that,  if  these  objections  could  be 
brought  to  cross-examination,  it  would  be  found  that 
there  was  no  antagonism  against  literary  culture  in 
itself,  but  an  instinctive  doubt  whether  professed 
literary  studies  really  secure  it.  If  a  man  sets  out  to 
study  science  or  history,  the  chances  are  that  what  he 
is  seeking  he  will  get  in  greater  or  less  degree.  But  of 
those  who  make  literary  study  their  goal  the  large 
majority  fail  to  reach  it. 

For  alternatives  to  Classics  we  are  offered  such 
studies  as  Modern  Languages  and  English.  From  our 
point  of  view  of  literary  study  these  seem  a  very  super- 
ficial remedy.  It  may  be  true  that,  modern  languages 
being  more  quickly  mastered,  the  student  is  in  this  way 
brought  into  contact  with  a  larger  amount  of  litera- 
ture in  a  given  time.  But  it  is  also  true  that  what 
literature  he  touches  has  by  no  means  the  crucial 
importance  of  classical  literature.  He  is  being  kept 
all  the  time  on  the  outer  circumference,  and  does  not 

[443] 


WORLD  LITERATURE 

reach  the  real  centre  of  literature.  It  sounds  plausible 
when  one  of  the  English-speaking  races  says,  At  least 
let  us  know  our  own  literature.  But  the  question  arises, 
What  is  "our  own  Uterature"  ?  Is  it  literature  in  the 
English  tongue?  Or  is  it  the  literature,  in  whatever 
language  expressed,  which  as  an  historic  fact  has  in- 
spired our  great  masters,  and  formed  our  own  thought 
and  taste  ?  ^  We  must  beware  of  false  analogies  between 
language  and  literature.  If  the  question  were  of  the 
English  language,  then  it  is  clear  there  can  be  no  sci- 
entific study  of  this  without  going  back  to  its  sources 
in  Anglo-Saxon  or  Old  English.  But  of  our  literature, 
as  we  have  seen,  the  sources  are  to  be  looked  for  else- 
where :  in  the  classical  and  biblical  literatures,  and 
the  influences  of  European  Romance.  In  our  literary 
pedigree  Anglo-Saxon  literature  has  no  place,  unless  it 
be  the  place  of  a  poor  relation.  The  objector  on 
behalf  of  the  English-speaking  races  was  sound  in  his 
instinct,  but  he  expressed  himself  wrongly;  what  he 
really  desired  was,  not  English  literature,  but  litera- 
ture in  English.  English  literature,  great  as  it  is, 
remains  only  a  single  item  of  the  Hterary  whole ;  what 
the  Englishman  needs  is  world  literature  brought  to 
him  in  his  own  English  tongue,  in  which  he  can  reach 
the  literary  effect  of  what  he  is  reading,  undistracted 
by  interruptions  of  linguistic  puzzles,  and  the  mechan- 
ism of  grammar  and  dictionary. 

It  is  the  absence  from  our  educational  schemes  of 

1  It  is  hardly  necessary  to  remark  that  ample  justice  is  done  to 
considerations  of  this  kind  in  Mr.  W.  J.  Conrthope's  magnificent 
History  of  English  Poetry. 

[444] 


AN  ESSENTIAL  OF  GENERAL  CULTURE 

what  in  this  work  has  been  called  World  Literature, 
that  makes  all  these  alternatives  futile.  The  study 
of  Classics,  combined  with  world  literature  in  English, 
has  all  the  advantages  claimed  for  classical  studies,  and 
the  objection  is  removed  that  in  such  treatment  litera- 
ture is  lost  in  language.  I  remember  hearing  a  man 
of  the  highest  academic  position,  and  one  who  had 
taken  the  highest  classical  honors  of  his  university, 
describe  his  own  introduction  as  a  schoolboy  to  Virgil. 
It  was  the  custom  of  the  school  for  three  classes  to 
take  their  Virgil  together;  the  highest  of  the  three 
could  perhaps  prepare  two  hundred  lines  for  a  lesson, 
the  next  class  one  hundred,  the  third  (to  which  the 
speaker  belonged)  only  fifty.  Thus,  his  first  acquaint- 
ance with  the  ^neid  consisted  in  reading  lines  1  to  50, 
lines  201  to  250,  lines  401  to  450,  and  so  on.  Of  course, 
the  motive  of  this  otherwise  ridiculous  arrangement 
was  opportunity  for  drill  in  elementary  Latin,  which  is 
a  good  thing  in  itself.  But  how  simple  it  would  have 
been  with  this  drill  to  combine  the  literary  presentation 
of  the  whole  Mneid  in  English,  with  all  its  chances  of 
awakening  through  a  masterpiece  a  literary  taste  at 
the  most  impressionable  period  of  a  boy's  life.^     Simi- 

1  The  principle  here  touched  is  of  wide-reaching  importance. 
Even  in  its  own  field  the  prevailing  study  of  Classics  is  discredited 
by  the  small  proportion  of  Greek  and  Latin  literature  that  can  be 
covered  by  a  school  or  even  a  university  course ;  many  writers  of 
high  importance  in  their  bearing  on  ancient  history  and  life  being 
seldom  attempted.  If  the  principle  were  followed  of  combining  a 
nucleus  of  Greek  and  Latin  authors,  thoroughly  studied  in  the  origi- 
nal, with  a  much  wider  literary  area  read  freely  in  translation,  the 
whole  study  would  be  brought  nearer  to  its  own  ideals. 

[445] 


WORLD.  LITERATURE 

larly,  modern  languages  and  English  make  excellent 
specialties  added  to  a  basis  of  general  literary  study. 
The  choice  between  the  alternative  systems  will  de- 
pend upon  a  variety  of  educational  considerations  not 
pertinent  to  our  present  discussion;  but  any  one  of 
them,  thus  supplemented  by  world  literature,  becomes 
educationally  defensible  as  a  foundation  for  humanity 
studies.  And  it  would  be  found  that  the  linguistic 
interest  in  the  Latin,  Greek,  French,  German,  would  be 
quickened  by  the  literary  interest  of  the  whole  study. 
But  there  is  something  more  to  be  said.  All  these 
alternatives,  if  we  allow  all  they  claim  for  themselves, 
yet  stand  convicted  of  omitting  the  Bible  from  their 
literary  education.  There  is  no  claim  for  classical 
literature  as  an  element  of  culture  which  cannot,  with 
equal  force,  be  made  for  biblical  literature.  It  is  the 
scandal  of  our  higher  education  that  we  acquiesce  in  the 
tradition  of  the  half  pagan  Renaissance  which  leaves 
a  gulf  between  academic  discipline  and  what  we  feel 
to  be  real  culture ;  that  our  education  neglects  the  one 
literature  of  which  the  matter  surpasses  all  other 
matter  in  intrinsic  importance,  while  its  literary  forms 
are  just  what  is  needed  to  widen  the  confined  outlook 
of  a  criticism  founded  on  the  single  literature  of  the 
ancient  Greeks.  Of  course,  the  ground  of  this  neglect 
is  partly  the  fear  of  biblical  study  touching  points  of 
religious  and  ecclesiastical  dispute.  The  objection 
would  come  with  more  weight,  if  those  who  urge  it  were 
taking  some  means  of  otherwise  providing  for  biblical 
culture.  But  I  believe  there  is  no  real  substance  in 
objections  of  this  type.    The  question  is  not  of  theo- 

[446] 


AN  ESSENTIAL  OF  GENERAL  CULTURE 

logical,  or  directly  religious  teaching,  but  of  literature 
which,  quite  apart  from  its  connection  with  religion, 
would  demand  attention  as  part  of  our  intellectual 
inheritance;  of  biblical  literature  treated  purely  as 
literature,  which  makes  the  common  ground  on  which 
differing  theologies  meet.  Of  course,  a  tactless  teacher 
could  make  trouble  in  handling  this  matter :  but  so 
can  a  tactless  teacher  make  trouble  in  handling  science 
and  history.  I  may  bear  personal  testimony  on  this 
subject.  For  the  last  twenty  years,  a  considerable  part 
of  my  work  has  been  to  present  biblical  matter,  both 
to  public  audiences  and  university  classes ;  and  I  have 
never  found  any  difficulty  of  the  kind  suggested  which 
was  not  trifling  in  itself  and  easily  met.  But  if  there 
be  such  difficulties,  they  must  be  faced  and  overcome. 
If  the  study  of  literature  cannot  square  itself  with  its 
own  first  principles,  we  must  expect  to  see  it  super- 
seded by  better  organized  studies. 

To  translate  these  general  considerations  into  aca- 
demic terms.  A  course  of  education  is  understood  to 
combine  a  general  with  special  elements :  all  educa- 
tors agree  upon  this,  however  much  they  may  differ  as 
to  the  distribution  of  the  two  parts.  The  point  of  the 
present  argument  is  that  World  Literature  should  not 
be  treated  as  a  specialty,  but  as  a  part  of  general  edu- 
cation ;  it  is  not  to  be  considered  as  an  option  that 
may  be  taken  late,  but  as  an  essential  in  the  founda- 
tion stage  of  education,  part  of  the  common  body  of 
knowledge  which  makes  the  election  of  optional  studies 
intelligent.  No  one  would  suggest  a  complete  scheme 
of  education,  however  specialized  in  the  end,  which 

[447] 


WORLD  LITEIL^TURE 

had  not  at  some  point  touched  Hterature :  my  argu- 
ment is  that  in  this  hterary  element,  be  it  smaller  or 
greater,  World  Literature  is  the  important  part.  For 
World  Literature  is  an  elastic  thing,  that  lends  itself  to 
more  elementary  or  more  advanced  study.  What  in 
this  work  has  been  put  forward  under  that  name  is 
purely  an  individual  scheme;  but  some  presentation 
of  general  literature,  reflecting  the  unity  of  literature 
so  far  as  our  own  history  and  civilization  have  been 
affected  by  literary  influences,  has  importance  at  any 
stage  of  education.  For  education,  elementary  or 
advanced,  such  World  Literature  is  more  potent  than 
any  single  literature  can  be  in  securing  the  aims  of 
literary  culture :  in  developing  the  sense  of  what 
hterature  is ;  in  broadening  human  sympathies,  as 
travel  broadens  them,  by  bringing  us  into  contact  with 
racial  ideas  different  from  our  owti  ;  in  stimulating  the 
interest  that  makes  a  man  a  reader;  in  cherishing  the 
taste  which  will  shun  the  bad  simply  by  preferring 
the  good.  It  is  more  important  —  if  the  choice  must 
be  made  —  that  students,  whether  younger  or  older, 
should  be  acquainted  with  Homer  than  that  they  should 
be  acquainted  with  Chaucer  or  Dryden  or  Scott. 
Classical  tragedies  and  comedies  are  more  important 
for  us  than  any  dramatic  literature  except  Shakespeare, 
and  they  have  a  priority  of  time  over  Shakespearean 
dramas  because  they  are  so  much  simpler.  Bible 
story,  prophetic  vision  and  lyrics,  wisdom  literature 
with  its  glorification  of  the  simple  things  of  life,  are 
more  powerful  in  their  literary  training  than  selected 
specimens  of  English  or  Latin  hterature.     For  awaken- 

[448] 


GENERAL  STUDIES  NEED  STRENGTHENING 

ing  insight  into  literature  and  its  power  of  interpret- 
ing life  more  may  be  done  by  following  the  versions 
of  the  Faust  Story,  or  by  a  course  of  comparative  read- 
ing, than  by  the  study  of  a  whole  single  literature 
isolated  from  other  literatures.  The  perspective  of  the 
whole  literary  field,  which  is  the  essential  point  of  World 
Literature,  is  that  which  gives  to  each  particular  lit- 
erature when  it  is  studied  fresh  interest  and  fresh 
significance.  It  is  the  common  bond  which  draws  to- 
gether the  humanity  studies  into  a  single  discipline. 
And  for  those  whose  main  interest  is  widely  removed 
from  literature,  who  follow  the  physical  or  mathe- 
matical sciences  or  art,  if  their  education  touches  litera- 
ture at  all,  it  is  this  World  Literature  that  most  concerns 
them,  and  not  any  single  literature,  even  though  that 
be  the  literature  of  their  native  land. 

This  contention  is  simply  one  side  of  a  wider  consider- 
ation applying  to  liberal  education  as  a  whole :  in  our 
liberal  education  it  is  the  general  as  against  the  special 
side  that  at  the  present  time  needs  strengthening. 
Our  education  ought  to  be  self-explaining  as  a  whole 
scheme,  instead  of  being,  as  it  generally  is,  a  congeries 
of  separate  subjects,  maintained  by  the  excellence  of 
the  particular  subjects,  but  without  any  comparative 
grasp;  a  house  without  a  building  plan.  If  modern 
education  be  compared  with  the  old-time  education 
which  consisted  mainly  in  classical  studies,  no  reason- 
able man  will  doubt  that  there  has  been  a  great  advance. 
But  it  is  also  true  that  the  variety  of  studies  we  have 
introduced  have  fought  their  way  into  the  programme 
one  by  one,  squeezing  classical  culture  into  smaller 

2  G  f  449  ] 


WORLD  LITERATURE 

and  smaller  proportions ;  there  has  been  no  revision  of 
the  general  scheme  of  learning  that  binds  the  separate 
parts  together.  Differentiation  and  generalization  are 
the  systole  and  diastole  of  mental  progress.  It  is 
inevitable  that  as  time  goes  on  newer  and  more  minute 
special  studies  should  assert  themselves;  it  is  equally 
inevitable,  if  progress  is  to  be  sound,  that  with  these 
newer  interests  the  whole  field  of  learning  should  from 
time  to  time  be  resurveyed,  and  the  distribution  of  its 
parts  recast.  It  is  from  lack  of  this  generalizing  ele- 
ment that  our  schemes  of  liberal  culture  so  often  pre- 
sent a  strange  mixture  of  thoroughness  and  looseness, 
of  precision  with  absence  of  perspective,  lumps  of  real 
knowledge  in  a  paste  of  unconscious  ignorance.  A 
student  of  one  type  will,  at  the  conclusion  of  an  aca- 
demic course,  have  a  fair  grasp  of  English  history  and 
the  history  of  ancient  Greece  and  Rome :  all  between 
is  to  him  a  desert  with  elephants  for  cities;  he  may 
have  taken  classical  honors  without  having  the  Mid- 
dle Ages  so  much  as  mentioned  to  him,  or  he  thinks 
of  them  as  a  dark  interval  when  nothing  particular  was 
being  done.  A  student  of  another  type  is  able  to  do 
really  expert  work  in  one  or  two  sciences ;  yet,  let  him 
from  the  starting-point  of  these  sciences  proceed  to 
wider  discussions,  his  discussion  betrays  how  un- 
grounded he  is  even  in  the  philosophy  of  science  itself. 
A  man  can  hardly,  at  the  present  time,  set  up  as  an 
artist  in  any  branch  of  art  without  having  really  wide 
knowledge  of  his  art,  and  a  minutely  developed  tech- 
nique :  this  does  not  prevent  the  fact  that  a  large  pro- 
portion of  artists  seem  narrow  in  their  culture,  and  those 

[450] 


GENERAL  STUDIES  NEED  STRENGTHENING 

who  are  brilliant  exceptions  would  be  the  first  to  insist 
that  this  narrow  general  culture  reacts  upon  the  art 
itself.  The  significance  of  all  this  is  not  anything 
inimical  to  high  specialization :  the  difficulty  is  that, 
while  in  every  special  study  there  are  plenty  of  eager 
guides,  yet  there  seems  a  conspiracy  of  neglect  in  refer- 
ence to  the  broader  studies  that  make  the  map  of  the 
general  field  of  learning,  and  bring  the  special  studies 
together.  Lack  of  this  generalized  education  takes 
from  the  specialties  themselves  great  part  of  their  cul- 
tural value. 

The  late  Sir  J.  R.  Seeley  was  a  man  of  high  academic 
position,  and  an  author  of  front  rank :  he  speaks  in 
the  strongest  language  of  the  way  our  education  fails  in 
this  very  respect  of  being  without  ideal  and  plan,  of 
the  absence  of  any  relation  between  education  and 
reality. 

Look,  then,  how  the  Enghsh  people  treat  their  children.  Try  and 
discover  from  the  way  they  train  them,  from  the  education  they  give 
them,  what  they  wish  them  to  be.  They  have  ceased,  ahnost  con- 
sciously ceased,  to  have  any  ideal  at  all.  .  .  .  The  parent,  from 
sheer  embarrassment  and  want  of  an  ideal,  has  in  a  manner  abdicated.^ 

But,  in  Seeley's  view,  it  is  not  the  education  of  chil- 
dren only  that  suffers  from  this  lack  of  ideal  and  plan. 

In  England  the  ideas  of  the  multitudes  are  perilously  divergent 
from  those  of  the  thinking  class.  No  sufficient  pains  have  been 
taken  to  diffuse  everywhere  the  real  religion  of  the  age.  No  ade- 
quate doctrine  of  civilization  is  taught  among  us.  Science  only  pene- 
trates either  in  the  form  of  useful  information  or  else  in  that  of  a 
negative  doctrine  opposed  to  religion ;  as  itself  a  main  part  of  relig- 

*  Natural  Religion,  page  134. 
[  451  ] 


WORLD  LITERATURE 

ion,  as  the  grand  revelation  of  God  in  these  later  times  supplement- 
ing rather  than  superseding  older  revelations,  it  remains  almost  as 
much  unknown  as  in  the  dark  ages.  Still  less  known  perhaps  is  that 
doctrine  of  the  gradual  development  of  human  society  which  alone 
can  explain  to  us  the  present  state  of  affairs,  give  us  the  clue  to  his- 
tory, save  us  from  political  aberrations  and  point  out  the  direction  of 
progress.  So  long  as  churches  were  efficient,  this  idea  of  the  continu- 
ity of  civilization  was  kept  before  the  general  mind.  A  grand  outline 
of  God's  dealings  with  the  human  race,  drawn  from  the  Bible  and  the 
church  doctrine,  a  sort  of  map  of  history,  was  possessed  by  all  ahke. 
Are  we  sufficiently  aware  what  bewilderment  must  have  arisen 
when  this  is  no  longer  the  case,  when  those  old  outlines  grow  un- 
serviceable, but  no  new  map  is  furnished  ?  ^ 

He  says  again  :  — 

In  our  culture  there  is  at  present  a  most  dangerous  gap.  While 
most  other  great  subjects  of  knowledge  have  been  brought  under 
systematic  treatment,  rescued  from  mere  popular  misconception, 
and  then,  when  the  great  generalizations  have  been  duly  settled, 
rendered  back  to  the  people  in  authoritative  teaching,  one  subject 
remains  an  exception,  and  that  one  the  all-important  subject  of  the 
history  of  civilization.  No  grand  trustworthy  outlines  have  yet 
been  put  within  the  reach  of  all,  which  may  serve  as  a  chart  to  guide 
us  in  political  and  social  movement.^ 

It  is  the  crudity  of  our  general  scheme  of  studies,  how- 
ever excellent  the  separate  parts  may  be,  that  has 
taken  the  interest  out  of  education,  and  caused  it  to 
be  voted  by  outsiders  the  dullest  of  topics.  And  it  is 
in  the  humanities  side  of  education  that  the  absence  of 
coordination  is  most  felt,  the  absence  of  what  Seeley 
calls  a  doctrine  or  outline  of  civilization.     What  in  this 

^  Natural  Religion,  page  208.  [I  have  somewhat  condensed  the 
passage.] 

2  Natural  Religion,  page  256. 

[452] 


UNIVERSITIES  NARROWING  INTO  SCHOOLS 

work  is  called  World  Literature  is  just  what  is  needed 
to  draw  together  the  scattered  parts  of  humanity 
studies.  When  the  unity  of  all  history  and  the  unity 
of  all  literature  are  made  the  basis  on  which  such 
studies  are  arranged,  the  ideal  of  thoroughness  in  de- 
tails not  being  allowed  to  obscure  the  more  difficult 
ideal  of  accurate  perspective,  then  the  humanity  studies 
will  carry  with  them  their  own  vindication. 

It  seems  natural  to  go  on  to  another  consideration : 
that  of  the  change  which  seems  to  be  coming  over  the 
conception  of  a  university,  a  change  I  would  describe 
by  saying  that  universities  seem  to  be  narrowing  into 
schools.  School  education  I  understand  to  be  educa- 
tion conceived  as  a  preparation  for  something,  univer- 
sity education  is  education  as  an  end  in  itself.  This 
definition  may  perhaps  be  challenged  by  those  who 
would  point  out  that  the  earliest  universities  appear 
in  Europe  as  combinations  of  professional  schools. 
But  this  is  an  argument  of  names  rather  than  of 
things:  the  word  ''university,"  before  it  settled  down 
to  its  academic  significance,  had  a  broader  sense,  some- 
thing like  that  of  the  word  ''union"  at  the  present 
time ;  we  remember  the  great  leader  who  was  accus- 
tomed to  call  the  Church  of  Christ  the  University  of 
the  Saints.^  As  to  school  education,  usage  is  perfectly 
definite :  the  clergyman,  the  lawyer,  the  doctor,  the 
artist,  are  prepared  for  their  professions  by  divinity 
schools,  law  schools,  medical  schools,  schools  of  art ; 
the  common  school  is  similarly  that  which  prepares  for 
common  life.     Yet  there  is  surely  such  a  thing  as  edu- 

■   '  Huss's  phrase :  Ecclesia  Christi  universitas  proedestinatorum. 

[453] 


WORLD  LITERATURE 

cation  for  its  own  sake  with  no  ulterior  purpose,  and 
what  is  the  organ  of  such  education  if  not  the  univer- 
sity? Of  course,  in  the  detailed  teaching  of  any  par- 
ticular subject  the  two  types  of  education  cannot  in 
practice  be  separated ;  institutions  called  universities 
must  administer  what  is  school  education,  and  institu- 
tions called  schools  must  give  what,  in  the  sense  of  the 
definition,  is  the  university  idea  of  education  for  its 
own  sake.  But  the  new  tendency  is  for  universities  to 
move  further  and  further  from  their  function  of  cultural 
teaching,  and  concentrate  more  and  more  upon  the 
school  function  of  preparation  for  special  activities. 

It  is  not  so  long  since  the  university  was  looked  upon 
as  the  natural  home  of  culture.  Unfortunately,  an 
impoverished  significance  came  to  attach  itself  to  the 
word  "culture,"  and  it  seemed  to  connote  the  posses- 
sion of  whatever  culture  may  be.  Accordingly,  aca- 
demic bodies  tended  to  become  close  circles  of  superior 
persons,  organized  for  cultural  intercourse  and  for  the 
training  of  their  successors.  Not  only  was  this  an 
unworthy  ideal,  but  such  a  social  body  was  bound  to 
stagnate :  university  circles  became  reactionary  and 
conservative,  and  university  teaching  a  monotony  of 
courses  of  lectures  delivered  over  and  over  again  from 
manuscripts  yellow  with  age.  A  healthy  reaction  set 
in,  by  which  a  university  was  to  be  a  body  of  persons 
doing  original  work  as  well  as  teaching.  Nothing 
could  be  sounder.  Only,  a  somewhat  limited  sense  was 
attached  to  the  word  "original":  it  was  associated 
with  what  was  called  advancing  the  boundaries  of 
knowledge;   with  investigation,  but  only  investigation 

[454] 


UNIVERSITIES  NARROWING  INTO  SCHOOLS 

in  new  directions.  Thus  the  school  function  of  a 
university  was  emphasized,  in  the  form  of  training 
investigators.  Of  course  universities  continued  to 
teach,  but  with  a  difference :  to  teach  was  their  duty, 
to  investigate  became  their  ambition. 

Now,  if  culture  is  to  be  a  wholesome  thing,  the  word 
must  connote  the  diffusion  of  whatever  culture  may  be. 
As  the  boundaries  of  investigation  are  extended  in 
various  directions,  there  arises  a  need  for  reorganizing 
the  general  field,  redistributing  our  enlarged  knowledge 
and  correlating  its  parts  afresh  ;  above  all,  there  is  need 
for  the  diffusion  of  the  results  through  the  ranks  of  the 
people.  There  is  just  as  much  scope  for  original  work, 
and  work  demanding  the  highest  original  powers,  in  the 
diffusion  of  knowledge  as  in  its  enlargement.  New 
diffusion  of  knowledge  is  enlargement  of  knowledge. 
Without  proportionate  diffusion,  the  enlarged  field  of 
learning  comes  to  be  like  a  community  in  which  there 
are  forces  to  stimulate  economic  production  without 
enhanced  provisions  for  distribution,  a  state  of  things 
we  associate  with  crops  rotting  for  lack  of  rolling  stock, 
and  markets  that  can  find  no  buyers.  We  talk  much 
about  the  grossly  unequal  distribution  of  wealth 
throughout  the  ranks  of  a  people.  But  no  small  pro- 
portion of  human  ills  rest  upon  the  grossly  and  unneces- 
sarily unequal  distribution  of  knowledge.  We  have 
a  religious  world  shaken  by  doubts,  and  falling  foul  of 
its  own  most  distinguished  leaders,  while  those  leaders 
are  absorbed  in  the  very  newest  questions  that  have 
just  emerged,  careless  that  results  secured  a  generation 
or  two  ago  have  never  been  really  brought  home  to  the 

[455] 


WORLD   LITERATURE 

mass  of  their  followers.  We  know  how  dangerous 
economic  heresies  can  run  rampant,  while  highly  trained 
economic  minds  prefer  the  easier  task  of  controversy 
with  rivals  to  the  more  difficult  problem  of  making  the 
foundations  of  economic  science  prevalent  in  the 
pubUc  mind.  New  enlargement  and  wide  diffusion  of 
knowledge  stand  on  equal  terms :  but  diffusion  has 
the  priority  in  time.  No  limits  can  be  set  to  the  ad- 
vance of  knowledge ;  yet  there  does  not  seem  to  be  any 
overpowering  reason  why  a  particular  discovery  should 
be  made  to-day  rather  than  to-morrow.  On  the 
other  hand,  sluggish  diffusion  of  improved  knowledge 
means  another  generation  of  men  passing  away  with- 
out it. 

I  do  not  forget  that  there  are  some  who  strongly  de- 
fend this  shifting  in  the  ideal  of  a  university,  and  in 
defending  it  use  a  word  that  seems  to  have  an  almost 
magical  effect  at  the  present  time :  they  cry  out  that 
our  education  must  be  practical.  If  by  ''practical"  is 
meant  close  connection  with  actual  life,  I  should  be  the 
first  to  take  sides  against  an  education  that  was  unprac- 
tical. But  in  reality  the  argument  veils  an  inadequate 
and  false  conception  of  life.  Life  is  made  up  of  work 
and  leisure.  No  one  is  now  found  to  defend  the  idle 
Hfe  that  has  no  work  in  it.  But  the  correlative  of  this 
is  equally  true,  that  a  life  without  leisure  is  an  inmioral 
hfe.  If  a  man  because  of  preoccupation  with  his  pro- 
fessional or  philanthropic  or  social  duties  has  lost  all 
control  of  his  time,  and  cannot  retire  into  himself  and 
give  heed  to  his  self-development,  he  has  lapsed  from 
the  life  of  a  free  man  into  the  life  of  a  slave.     The  fourth 

[456] 


UNIVERSITIES  NARROWING  INTO  SCHOOLS 

commandment  is  still  valid :  and  the  significance  of  the 
fourth  commandment  is  not  the  details  of  sabbath 
observance,  but  the  duty  of  leisure ;  its  place  in  the 
decalogue  means  that  the  moral  duty  of  leisure  is  as  fun- 
damental as  the  duty  of  purity  or  honesty.  It  is  pre- 
eminently in  the  present  age  that  this  truth  calls  for 
assertion.  In  spite  of  all  clamor  to  the  contrary,  the 
reader  of  literature  knows  that  this  age  is  in  advance  of 
most  previous  ages  in  matters  of  purity  and  honesty. 
But  the  special  vice  of  the  time  is  the  failure  to  see  the 
moral  obligation  of  leisure ;  that  it  becomes  possible  in 
our  strenuous  habits  for  a  man  or  woman  of  high  pur- 
pose to  be  so  absorbed  in  good  works  as  to  forget  the 
claims  of  personal  development,  to  think  that  zeal  in 
duty  to  God  and  our  neighbor  can  excuse  from  duty 
to  our  self.  Let  the  adequate  conception  of  what  life 
means  be  accepted,  and  it  becomes  clear  that  the  prepa- 
ration for  life  is  twofold  :  school  education  is  the  fitting 
for  Ufe's  work,  general  culture  prepares  for  the  leisure 
time.  And  men's  characters  and  value  for  society  de- 
pend quite  as  much  upon  the  way  they  occupy  their 
leisure  hours  as  upon  what  they  consider  their  specific 
work. 

Such  a  change  as  has  been  suggested  in  the  ideal  of 
what  constitutes  university  organization  is  of  wide- 
reaching  consequence,  since  universities,  directly  or  in- 
directly, determine  the  training  of  teachers  for  the  whole 
educational  system.  The  ideal  of  a  university  as  a  body 
of  investigators  and  teachers  is  perfectly  sound :  the 
two  things  go  well  side  by  side,  and  the  natural  inclina- 
tions of  individuals,  with  other  circumstances,  will  de- 

[4571 


WORLD  LITERATURE 

termine  the  relative  proportion  of  the  two  parts.  The 
evil  is  the  exaggerated  emphasis  that  has  been  placed 
upon  new  investigation  as  compared  with  organization 
and  diffusion  of  knowledge.  I  have  never  been  able  to 
discover  that  this  artificial  stimulus  to  the  training  of 
new  investigators  has  had  any  remarkable  influence  on 
the  field  of  modern  knowledge,  or  perceptibly  accelerated 
the  pace  of  progress.  But  there  is  very  decisive  evi- 
dence that  the  quality  of  the  teaching  power  supplied 
by  university  training  is  inadequate  and  disappointing. 
By  a  curious  irony  the  terms  of  an  older  system  have 
been  retained :  in  solemn  functions  every  year  univer- 
sity authorities  present  to  the  outside  world  a  number 
of  individuals  under  the  titles  of  Magister  and  Doctor, 
when  these  authorities  must  be  aware  that  the  one  point 
on  which  they  have  not  informed  themselves  is  whether 
these  individuals  have  any  aptitude  for  teaching.  Nor 
is  the  situation  helped  by  the  fact  that  in  recent  times 
education  has  itself  become  a  subject  of  university  study. 
The  education  so  studied  is  treated  as  a  specialty :  the 
study  centres  around  the  psychology  of  attention,  and 
the  technique  of  particular  kinds  of  teaching.  There  is 
of  course  a  proper  field  for  such  specialized  educational 
discussion.  But,  ultimately,  teaching  power  resolves 
itself  into  broad  culture.  The  particular  subject  a  man 
is  going  to  teach  can  be  trusted  to  take  care  of  itself. 
But  what  in  his  period  of  preparation  is  most  important 
for  the  teacher  is  to  extend  his  interest  in  directions 
other  than  his  special  calling ;  broad  culture,  giving  him 
points  of  contact  with  minds  differently  constituted 
from  his  own,  is  what  will  give  him  effectiveness  as  a 

[458] 


THE  UNIVERSITY  EXTENSION  IDEAL 

teacher.  And  there  is  nothing  vague  or  unpractical  in 
this  use  of  the  term  ''broad."  Broad  studies  are  those 
in  which  the  emphasis  is  laid,  not  upon  the  latest  novel- 
ties, but  upon  the  whole  subject  in  the  natural  propor- 
tion of  its  parts ;  a  choice  of  subjects  not  limited  by  the 
divisions  of  the  field  that  may  be  convenient  for  investi- 
gators, but  determined  with  a  view  to  culture  as  a  whole ; 
a  method,  moreover,  that  looks  to  the  advancement  of 
learning  through  its  wider  diffusion.  Of  this  type  of 
study  it  will  hardly  be  questioned  that  World  Literature 
is  an  illustration. 

Side  by  side  with  this  change  which  manifests  itself 
within  the  university,  and  in  antithesis  to  that  change, 
another  movement  is  apparent  outside,  which  expresses 
its  ideal  in  the  term  "university  extension."  But  the 
phrase  is  largely  misunderstood.  It  happens  that  an 
organization,  originally  started  by  the  University  of 
Cambridge,  and  subsequently  taken  up  by  other  lead- 
ing universities,  for  diffusing  education  by  the  agency 
of  itinerant  lecturers,  was  called — and  very  properly 
called  —  the  University  Extension  Movement.  But  of 
course  this  is  no  more  than  an  illustrative  detail  in  the 
wider  ''university  extension"  of  which  I  am  speaking. 
I  am  assuming  throughout  the  whole  discussion  that 
university  education  essentially  means  culture  as  an  end 
in  itself :  there  are  abundant  signs  that  such  culture  is 
gradually  spreading  more  and  more  widely  through  the 
ranks  of  the  people,  and  coming  to  be  a  universal  ideal, 
in  the  same  category  as  interest  in  religion  or  politics 
or  sport.  This  extension  of  the  interest  in  culture  seems 
to  make  one  of  three  movements  which  together  consti- 

[459] 


WORLD  LITERATURE 

tute  the  foundation  of  our  modern  life.  The  first  move- 
ment was  in  the  sphere  of  rehgion.  In  the  Middle  Ages 
thinking  in  religious  matters  was  the  function  of  a 
particular  class,  the  clergy,  into  which  the  laity  did  not 
intrude :  what  we  call  the  Reformation  consists,  more 
than  anything  else,  in  the  fact  of  the  masses,  or  the  mid- 
dle classes,  claiming  gradually  to  think  for  themselves 
on  religious  topics  —  of  course  under  the  leadership  of 
distinguished  minds  —  and  so  religious  thought  becomes 
a  universal  interest.  Similarly,  in  earher  times  there 
was  a  governing  class,  and  the  rest  of  society  (with  oc- 
casional protests)  allowed  itself  to  be  governed ;  by  the 
Revolution  the  masses  grew  to  have  a  voice  in  govern- 
ment, marshalled  under  men  of  light  and  leading,  and 
political  activity  became  a  universal  interest.  What 
we  are  now  seeing  is  that  culture,  traditionally  the  inter- 
est of  a  small  class,  chiefly  found  in  universities,  is  com- 
ing to  animate  the  world  outside.  Not  only  what  has 
been  called  by  the  name  of  university  extension,  but  the 
wide  spread  of  literary  and  similar  clubs,  reading  circles, 
chautauquas  and  summer  schools,  organizations  round 
Hbraries  as  centres,  enormous  expansion  of  the  publish- 
ing trade  in  regard  to  standard  books,  these  are  among 
the  symptoms  of  the  change.  Of  course,  the  culture 
represented  by  all  this  is  at  present  a  chaos :  all  types 
of  efficiency  and  inefficiency,  sometimes  to  the  point  of 
grotesqueness,  are  exhibited :  yet  it  is  all  good  evidence 
of  educational  ambition. 

Thus  the  university  ideal  is  being  extended ;  and  the 
extension  is  twofold.  It  is  an  extension,  we  have  seen, 
from  a  small  class  to  the  people  at  large,  including  those 

[4601 


THE  UNIVERSITY  EXTENSION  IDEAL 

who  have  no  connection  with  universities.  But  what 
appears  to  me  still  more  important  is  the  extension  that 
affects  those  who  have  been  to  universities  and  com- 
pleted their  course :  for  these  university  extension 
means  extension  of  the  educational  period  to  the  whole 
of  their  life,  the  pursuit  of  culture  becoming  a  continuous 
interest,  side  by  side  with  other  interests,  and  with  the 
practical  duties  of  life.  Traditional  education  assumes 
that  there  is  a  cultural  period  in  a  life,  a  few  years  at  a 
university  ending  with  a  degree.  But  this  whole  con- 
ception of  a  cultural  period  and  a  degree  system  belongs 
to  the  school  function  of  the  university :  where  the 
question  is  of  qualifying  for  a  profession  no  other  system 
is  possible.  For  general  culture  the  point  to  emphasize 
is,  not  concentration  in  a  few  years,  but  extension  to  the 
leisure  time  of  a  whole  life.  I  have  spoken  of  education 
tending  to  become  a  universal  interest  like  religion  or 
politics  or  sport.  We  should  think  it  strange  if  the  plan 
of  concentration  instead  of  extension  were  applied  to 
these  other  interests  of  life :  if  people  were  invited  to 
give  up  three  or  four  years  entirely  to  religious  exercises, 
or  entirely  to  sport,  with  a  qualification  at  the  end  of 
the  period  suggesting  that  the  religious  exercises,  or 
the  sport,  had  been  got  through  for  life,  and  that  other 
matters  might  occupy  attention.  It  seems  more  whole- 
some to  extend  the  religious  exercises,  and  the  sport, 
through  the  life  as  a  whole,  with  continuous  yet  not  ex- 
clusive interest.  It  is  a  similar  spreading  of  higher  edu- 
cation through  a  lifetime  side  by  side  with  other  vital 
interests  that,  to  my  mind,  makes  the  most  important 
form  of  university  extension. 

[461] 


WORLD  LITERATURE 

How  does  all  this  bear  upon  the  university  system 
itself?  In  two  ways.  In  the  first  place,  universities 
as  the  natural  leaders  of  culture  ought  to  cooperate 
gladly  with  all  proper  agencies  for  such  higher  education 
outside  theu'  walls;  in  particular,  cooperate  by  the 
training  of  teachers,  teachers  who  should  combine  the 
high  standards  of  university  work  with  the  missionary 
spirit.  But,  in  the  second  place,  the  teaching  within 
the  university  itself  is  affected  by  these  considerations, 
so  far  as  that  teaching  is  general  and  not  professional 
training.  The  current  idea  of  general  (as  distinguished 
from  professional)  education  is  that  it  is  of  the  nature 
of  an  irreducible  minimum,  which  the  university  must 
jealously  guard;  and,  where  opportunity  serves,  the 
university  seeks  to  raise  its  standards.  But  all  this  is  a 
conception  produced  by  confusion  with  the  school  func- 
tion of  training  for  a  profession.  Where  the  question 
is  of  culture  as  an  end  in  itself,  the  way  of  raising  the 
standard  is,  not  enhanced  requirements,  but  to  vitalize 
the  teaching  power  in  the  university  and  make  it  more 
effective.  Of  course,  in  all  educational  work  testing 
goes  side  by  side  with  teaching.  But  the  scheme  of 
general  education  must  be  looked  at,  not  with  a  view 
to  acquirements  attained  at  the  close  of  a  university 
course,  but  with  a  view  to  the  influence  of  the  course  on 
the  whole  future  life  of  the  students.  Two  points  are 
of  particular  importance.  The  first  and  foremost  aim 
should  be  to  stimulate  interest  in  the  subject  taught; 
acquirements  are  at  best  temporary,  but  a  vital  interest 
once  aroused  may  go  on  forever.  Again,  in  whatever 
may  be  the  particular  study,  the  aim  should  be  to  give  a 

[462] 


THE  UNIVERSITY  EXTENSION  IDEAL 

clear  ground  plan  of  the  whole,  a  map  as  it  were  of  what 
there  is  to  do.  The  combination  of  these  two  conditions, 
a  ground  plan  of  a  subject  and  a  stimulated  interest  for 
continuing  the  study,  makes  the  most  favorable  chance 
for  the  general  course  of  a  university  system  to  bear 
fruit  in  the  future.  For  general  education  the  criterion 
is  the  effect  on  the  average  man.  After  a  life  spent  in 
teaching  I  would  say  that  I  have  a  great  respect  for 
the  average  university  or  university  extension  student. 
Of  course,  in  any  body  of  men  and  women  gathered 
for  educational  or  any  other  purpose  there  will  be  a 
percentage  of  loafers ;  and  this  is  a  difficulty  that  has 
to  be  met.  But  my  experience  is  that  the  average  stu- 
dent is  ready  to  work,  and  —  in  proportion  to  his  ability 
—  to  do  hard  work,  if  the  work  is  properly  placed  before 
him.  In  professional  training  it  may  be  enough  merely 
to  prescribe  studies :  professional  interest  makes  the 
motive  force.  For  the  general  student  it  is  necessary 
to  take  him  into  the  confidence  of  the  teacher,  or,  so  to 
speak,  into  the  confidence  of  the  subject  studied ;  he 
may  be  apathetic  to  a  mere  task,  but  will  rouse  up  to  a 
piece  of  work  that  justifies  itself  in  a  general  plan  of  a 
subject.  We  are  brought  once  more  to  the  value  of 
broad  studies  that  illuminate  a  whole  field  of  thought. 
But,  whatever  may  be  the  future  action  of  universi- 
ties, the  university  extension  ideal  remains :  the  volun- 
teer university  of  self-directed  education,  recruited  alike 
from  those  who  have  no  association  with  university  life 
and  those  who  have  completed  academic  courses  and 
have  their  whole  lives  before  them  for  their  own  study. 
To  these  World  Literature  has  a  special  appeal :  for  it 

[463] 


WORLD  LITERATURE 

is  they  who  have  created  the  study,  while  academic 
schemes  have  hngered  in  the  departmental  limitations 
of  literary  interest.  The  pioneers  of  World  Literature 
are,  in  the  first  case,  the  great  scholars  who  have  added 
literary  power  to  scholarship,  and  by  elevating  the  art 
of  translation  to  its  present  level  have  been  mediating 
interpreters  between  one  civihzation  and  another. 
With  these  must  be  recognized,  in  the  second  place,  the 
great  publishing  enterprise  which,  in  our  day,  is  more 
and  more  widely  spreading  the  classics  of  the  nations 
in  worthy  and  accessible  forms.  Both  these  have  been 
catering  for  the  general  reader,  and  not  for  the  specialist. 
On  the  other  hand,  it  is  the  temptation  of  self-directed 
education  to  become  scrappy.  Yet  the  same  principle 
appHes  here  that  applies  in  more  regularly  organized 
studies  :  the  necessity  in  any  subject  of  a  broad  founda- 
tion, with  wide  perspective  and  careful  combination  of 
parts;  this  is  the  basis  which  gives  soundness  to  the 
treatment  of  special  topics.  I  am  no  doubt  biased 
in  favor  of  my  own  study.  Yet  it  seems  a  reasonable 
view  that  World  Literature,  as  the  term  has  been  used 
in  this  book,  is  fitted  to  be  a  foundation  study  in  general 
culture.  Literature  is  the  most  universal  of  interests : 
what  is  needed  is  to  transcend  the  boundaries  made  by 
diversity  of  language,  and  to  realize  the  unity  of  the 
literary  field ;  that  the  Enghsh  reader  should  seek  not 
English  Uterature  so  much  as  literature  in  English. 
Popular  inquiry  has  been  active  as  to  the  ''best  books"  : 
what  is  wanted  is  the  philosophy  lying  behind  the  selec- 
tion of  these  best  books.  Education  has  been  wisely 
defined  as  the  epitome  of  civihzation :   implying  that 

[464] 


THE  UNIVERSITY  EXTENSION  IDEAL 

the  new  generation  goes  rapidly  through  the  stages  of 
evolution  which  earlier  generations,  each  for  itself, 
achieved  slowly  and  with  difficulty.  Apply  this  to  the 
humanities,  and  World  Literature  at  once  justifies  its 
position :  the  World  Literature  which  we  have  seen  as 
the  autobiography  of  civilization,  in  which  the  general 
outline  of  civilization,  so  pointedly  absent  at  present 
from  our  educational  schemes,  appears,  not  in  formal 
theory,  but  in  a  succession  of  luminous  reflections. 


2h  14651 


SYLLABUS 

LIST  OF  BOOKS 

General  Index 


SYLLABUS 

Introduction 

The  study  of  literature  lags  behind  other  studies  as  still  remaining 
in  the  departmental  stage :  national  hteratures  studied  separately, 
and  in  subordination  to  language  and  history  —  recognition  of  the 
unity  of  all  Uterature  indispensable  condition  for  elevating  literary 
study  to  the  rank  of  such  studies  as  history,  language,  philosophy, 
art. 

One  aspect  of  such  study  of  literature  may  be  formulated  as 
World  Literature:  the  unity  of  Uterature  viewed  in  perspective 
from  the  standpoint  of  the  observer  —  thus  World  Literature  will 
be  different  for  different  nations  and  different  individuals  of  a 
nation  —  its  philosophic  basis  made  by  two  supplementary  prin- 
ciples :  (1)  the  Literary  Pedigree  of  the  nation  (2)  Intrinsic  Literary 
Value. 

Such  World  Literature  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  English- 
speaking  peoples  the  subject  of  the  present  work. 

The  Literary  Pedigree  of  the  English-speaking  peoples  rests  upon 
three  factors  —  (1)  Hellenic  civilization  as  reflected  in  the  classical 
literature  of  Greece  and  Rome  —  (2)  Hebraic  civiHzation  as  em- 
bodied in  the  Bible  —  these  the  flower,  respectively,  of  the  Aryan 
and  the  Semitic  civilizations  —  (3)  a  third  factor  made  by  the  fusion 
of  the  other  two  in  Mediaevalism  and  Romance. 

Full  discussion  of  the  essential  spirit  of  Hellenic  and  Hebraic 
(pages  13-26)  —  of  Mediaevalism  as  the  fusion  of  various  influ- 
ences that  crystalUze  in  the  literature  of  Romance  (pages  26-53). 

Chapter  I.  —  Literary  Bibles  :  The  Holy  Bible 

The  Hebraic  basis  of  our  civilization  is  not  the  history  of  Israel, 
but  the  spiritual  interpretation  of  the  history  of  Israel  embodied 
by  the  sacred  writers  in  the  literature  we  call  the  Bible. 

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This  Bible,  as  dating  back  to  a  period  before  manuscript  writing 
could  indicate  literary  distinctions,  has  come  down  to  us  destitute 
of  its  true  literary  form,  and  impressed  with  a  different  form  [texts 
for  comment]  the  creation  of  mediaeval  commentators  —  restoration 
of  the  Bible  to  its  true  Uterary  structure  essential  for  its  interpre- 
tation. 

I.  Interest  of  particular  books  of  the  Bible  as  Hebraic  Classics, 
extending  our  conceptions  of  Uterary  form  traditionally  limited  by 
Greek  criticism,  which  was  the  formulation  of  a  single  hterature. 

Discussion  of  notable  literary  forms  in  the  Bible  (pages  65-71). 

IL  Special  Uterary  interest  in  the  Unity  of  the  Bible :  its  books, 
read  in  their  Uterary  sequence,  draw  together  into  a  scheme  like  a 
Uterary  plot. 

General  form  of  the  Bible:  an  historic  framework  [constructed 
late]  holding  together  higher  Uterary  forms  [of  all  dates,  early  and 
late]  which  contain  the  spirit  of  the  literature  :  the  whole  may  thus 
be  conceived  of  as  the  autobiography  of  a  spiritual  evolution. 

The  structure  of  the  Bible  as  a  whole  resembles  that  of  a  Drama 
in  two  Acts  [of  Old  and  New  Testaments]  with  an  Interlude  [of 
Wisdom  Uterature :  theology  giving  place  to  devout  meditation  on 
Ufej. 

The  Old  Testament  is  the  Covenant  between  God  and  the  People 
of  Israel,  a  people  chosen  to  be  the  revelation  of  Himself  to  other 
peoples. 

Structure  of  the  Old  Testament.  —  Prologue  [previous  cove- 
nants between  God  and  mankind]  —  Genesis  [origin  of  the 
chosen  people]  —  The  Exodus  [or  emigration]  —  The  Judges 
[transition  to  secular  government]  —  Secular  government  of 
Kings  with  spiritual  opposition  of  Prophets  —  the  Capti\'ity  — 
Ecclesiastical  Chronicles  of  the  Return  [the  People  of  Israel 
become  the  Jewish  Church]  —  an  Epilogue  in  the  Isaiahan 
Rhapsody  [Divine  plan  of  history  in  dramatic  form].  —  Pages 
77-84. 

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Dramatic  movement  of  the  Old  Testament :  gradual  breaking  down 
of  the  Old  Covenant  [with  a  People]  and  vision  of  a  New  Covenant 
[with  individual  hearts]  —  the  epilogue  presents  the  Servant  of 
Jehovah  transformed  from  a  Nation  to  a  Redeemer. 

Wisdom  literature  belonging  to  the  interval  between  the  Old  and 
New  Testaments  has  a  progressive  movement  of  its  own.  —  The 
historic  framework  has  here  to  be  inferred :  contact  of  Hellenism 
with  Hebraism  —  the  one  stands  for  Individuality,  the  other  for 
Immortality  (abstract) :  their  union  develops  idea  of  Immortality 
of  the  Individual  soul. 

The  New  Testament  [anticipated  in  Jeremiah  and  the  Isaiahan 
Rhapsody]  is  the  Covenant  between  God  and  individual  hearts. 

Structure  of  the  New  Testament :    historic  framework  and 
higher  forms.  —  Acts  and  Words  of  Jesus  [Luke]  —  Acts  and 
Words  [Pauline  epistles]  of  the  Apostles  —  for  the  next  stage 
the  historic  framework  must  be  inferred :   the  accentuated  ex- 
pectation of  the  second  coming  of  Christ  [General  epistles  and 
other  gospels]  —  Epilogue  to  the  whole  Bible :  Book  of  Revela- 
tion. —  Pages  90-L 
Dramatic  movement  of  New  Testament :  the  gradual  enlargement 
in  the  conception  of  Jesus  Christ  —  until   the  epilogue  presents 
Him  as  centre  of  all  history  and  significance  of  all  prophecy. 

Chapter  II.  —  Literary  Bibles  :  Classical  Epic  and  Tragedy 

A  literary  bible  may  be  constructed  by  the  combination  of 
Classical  Epic  with  Classical  Tragedy,  so  far  as  this  touches  the 
matter  of  the  epics. 

Heroic  Myth  of  the  First  Generation :  Argonautic  Expedition 
The  Argonauts  of  Apollonius  Rhodius 
Medea  of  Euripides 
[William  Morris's  Jason] 

Heroic  Myth  of  the  Second  Generation :  Trojan  War 
The  Gathering  for  Troy 

Iphigenia  in  Aulis  of  Euripides 
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Quarrel  between  Agamemnon  and  Achilles 

The  Iliad 

Rhesus  of  Euripides 
Rivalry  after  the  death  of  Achilles 

Ajax  and  Philoctetes  of  Sophocles 
The  FaU  of  Troy 

Hecuba  and  Daughters  of  Troy  of  Euripides 
The  Departure  from  Troy  :  of  Agamemnon  : 

Aeschylus's    trilogy   (Agamemnon,   Sepulchral    Rites, 

Eumenides)  —  Electra  of  Sophocles  —  Electra,  Orestes, 

Iphigenia  in  Taurica  of  Euripides 
of  Menelaus : 

Helen  of  Euripides 
of  Odysseus :  ^ 

The  Odyssey 
of  Trojan  Captives: 

Andromache  of  Euripides 
of  ^neas : 

Virgil's  ^neid :  grand  link  between  Latin  and  Greek 

—  and  between  Latin  and  Mediaeval 

I.  The  body  of  literature  so  constructed  (1)  involves  the  relations 
between  Floating  and  Written  literature :  this  in  the  present  case 
has  evolved  the  fundamental  poetic  interest  of  Classical  Echoing, 
the  main  contribution  of  Hellenic  poetry  to  universal  literature  in 
antithesis  to  Romantic  Freedom  the  creation  of  Mediaevalism  (pages 
102-8).  —  (2)  It  presents  a  pre-historic  civilization  of  supreme 
interest.  —  (3)  It  has  had  the  prerogative  voice  in  poetic  art. 

II.  The  Argonautic  section  has  the  special  interest  of  being  carried 
a  stage  further  in  poetic  crystallization  by  Morris's  Jason. 

III.  Analysis  of  plot  and  movement  of  the  Iliad  reveals  interest  of 
exuberant  subject-matter  preponderating  over  interest  of  form. 

Detailed  discussion  of  poetic  motives  in  the  Iliad  (pages  116- 
34). 

rV.  Analysis  of  plot  and  movement  of  the  Odyssey  reveals  perfect 
balance  between  matter  and  form. 

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Special  poetic  interest  in  Odyssey:  treatment  of  wonder  inci- 
dents, an  adumbration  of  the  coming  Mythology  (pages  141-7). 

V.  Literary  interest  of  epic  and  tragic  treatment  applied  to  the 
same  subject-matter. 

Summarizing  discussion  of  Greek  tragedy  as  a  highly  specialized 
form  of  world  poetry  (pages  148-50)  —  as  the  worship  of 
Destiny  (pages  150-1).  —  Euripides  as  a  central  point  in  the 
history  of  poetry  (page  152). 

VI.  Virgil :  artificial  poetry  addressed  to  an  audience  permeated 
with  Greek  culture.  —  Analysis  of  plot  and  movement  of  the  Mneid 
reveals  fundamental  purpose  to  harmonize  Rome  and  its  destiny 
of  world  empire  with  Greek  antiquities  —  thus  the  great  link  be- 
tween Roman  and  Grecian  —  also  between  Roman  and  Mediaeval. 

Chapter  III.  —  Literary  Bibles  :   Shakespeare 

Shakespeare  a  rare  conjunction  of  the  most  complete  poetic 
individuality  with  a  moment  of  literary  history  offering  the  freest 
scope  for  its  manifestation. 

Romantic  .     Materials :   Stories  of  romance  [accumulation  of  the 
Drama  whole  of  the  Middle  Ages] 

Form :  Story  worked  upon    by  Drama  in  its  most 

concentrated   form   [newly  recovered   Classical 

Drama] 
Popular  Audiences :  (1)  interested  in  dramatization  of 

story  [by  the  Miracle  Play]  —  (2)  entirely  free 

from  limiting  influence  of  a  critical  attitude 
Current  philosophy  of  life :  full  Hebraic  spirit  of  the 

Bible  before  this  is  warped  into  Puritanism 

The  Shakespearean  conception  of  plot  reflects  the  constituent  ele- 
ments (pages  175-8). 

[473] 


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Chapter  IV.  —  Literary  Bibles  :   Dante  and  Milton 

What  makes  a  literary  bible  in  this  case  is  the  antithesis  of  two 
masterpieces,  which  present  constructions  of  the  sum  of  things  as 
seen  by  two  eras  ancestral  to  our  own  era. 

I.  Dante  the  complete  embodiment  of  Medisevalism.  —  The 
Divine  Comedy  reflects  various  features  of  mediaeval  Catholicism  — 
notably  (1)  symbohsm  as  the  supreme  form  of  truth  and  (2)  ideaU- 
zation  on  a  basis  of  sex  homage. 

IL  Milton  reflects  the  whole  course  of  the  Renaissance.  —  The 
Paradise  Lost  Puritan  theology  in  Classical  form  —  the  tradition  of 
Classical  Echoing  revived  and  made  to  extend  over  bibUcal  as  well 
as  Hellenic  literature. 

Full  discussion  and  illustration  of  the  poetic  effect  called  Clas- 
sical Echoing  in  Milton  (pages  196-219). 

Chapter  V.  —  Literary  Bibles  :  Versions  of  the  Faust  Story 

What  constitutes  the  literary  bible  in  this  case  is  a  germ  story, 
invoMng  three  pregnant  ideas,  developed  in  successive  master- 
pieces which  reflect  the  thinking  on  these  ideas  of  successive  eras 
or  schools  of  thought. 

Germ  of  the  Faust  Story  the  biblical  aphorism:  What  shall  it 
profit  a  man  if  he  gain  the  whole  world  and  lose  his  soul  ?  —  this 
involves : 

Gaining  the  whole  world 

Losing  the  soul 

Machinery  of  a  spiritual  market 

Traditional  Story  of  Faust 

Gaining  the  world :  mediaeval  magic 
Losing  the  soul :  mediaeval  hell 
Spiritual  market :  selling  the  soul  to  the  Devil 
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Marlowe's  Version.  —  Pages  224-31 

Product  of  the  Popular  Renaissance  :  a  transition  stage  between  the 
Middle  Ages  [Robust  Imagination]  and  Modern  Times  [RationaUza- 
tion] 


Gaining  the  World 


Losing  the  Soul 


Spiritual  Market 


Magic 

Approach  to  Rationalization  in  its  applica- 
tion to  mere  curiosity,  as  expression  of  the 
spirit  of  the  age 

Hell  as  finale  of  story- 
Rationalization  in  course  of  the  action  :  Free 
will  undermined  by  hysteric  shocks  at 
transitions  between  hope  and  despair 

Mediaeval  Tempter 

Rationalizing  touches  of  spiritual  conceptions 
for  Mephistophilis  and  for  hell 


Poetic  Form :  Imperfectly  developed  Elizabethan  drama  [serious 
plot  with  rough  relief  scenes]  —  with  remnants  of  Mediaeval  drama 

Calderon's  Version.  —  Pages  231-7 

Product  of  the  Spanish  Renaissance :  Exalted  sentiments  [chivalry, 
gallantry,  knowledge]  fused  in  an  ardor  of  [Catholic]  religious  Devo- 
tion —  introducing  special  motives :  Inverted  Scepticism  [drawing 
from  pagan  to  Christian]  —  Love  Passion  [making  a  double  plot]  — 
Magic  as  Anti-Religion  :  Holy  Magic  [of  the  Church]  pitted  against 
Black  Magic  [worship  of  the  Devil] 

Th    W    ]r\  I     Gained  by  Evil  Magic  [of  occult  nature  power] 

1     Lost  by  Holy  Magic  [spells  dissolved  by  Holy 

Name] 

iLost :   Voluntary  surrender  in  blood-signed  bond 
under  motive  of  passion 
Regained :    Voluntary  confession  with  blood  of 
martyrdom  —  passion  changing  to  pure  love 
[475] 


Spiritual 
Market 


SYLLABUS 

Lucifer  [of  Isaiah  xiv.  12]  identified  with  Satan, 
Antichrist,  the  Fallen  Angels  —  and  inter- 
preted (by  philosophy  of  magic)  as  god  of  the 
lower  world 


Poetic  Form :   Modern  drama,  specially  developed  on  the  side  of 
lyrics  and  spectacular  effects 

Goethe's  Version :   general  view.  —  Pages  237-9 

Product  of  Modern  Culture :  introducing  as  special  interests : 
Culture  a  supreme  motive  of  life  —  Love  passion,  making 
secondary  plot  —  Magic  accepted  as  symbol  for  illegitimate 
modes  of  culture 

Poetic  Form :  German  drama,  as  formulated  in  the  Prelude  on  the 
Stage :  union  of  stage-spectacle,  philosophy,  humor 

Goethe's  Version :    Machinery  of  Temptation.  —  Pages  240-51 

The  traditional  conception  enlarged  by  ideas  from  the  Book  of  Job 

[with  correct  discrimination  of  the  two  uses  of  "Satan"]  —  this 

reaUzed  in  the  Prologue  in  Heaven 

Mephistopheles  [a  Spirit  of  Denial  or  Challenge:  Job's  Satan 
modified  by  modern  cynicism]  undertakes  in  the  case  of  Faust 
to  play  the  part  of  Devil  [mediaeval  Tempter].  —  Thus,  a  constant 
relief  element :  Mephistopheles  caricaturing  the  Devil's  work 
as  he  performs  it 

The  original  idea  of  Barter,  or  a  Spiritual  Market,  is  replaced  by 

the  idea  of  a  Wager  over  souls 


Goethe's  Version :  Gaining  the  Whole  World.  —  Pages  251-82 


The  Individual 
World :  Part  First 


At  the  outset  Faust  possesses  the  whole  range  of 
mature  philosophic  culture  —  the  action 
adds  the  world  of  social  pleasure  —  and 
[miraculously]  restores  Faust's  lost  youth 

Thus :  Age  plus  Youth  covers  the  whole  Indi- 
vidual Life 

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The  Great  World :  The  World  presented  as  Spectacle  [Court,  So- 
Part  Second  ciety,  Wealth,  Pleasure,  Beauty].  —  Act  I 

The  World  presented  in  Science  [Processes  of 

genesis,  evolution].  —  Act  II 
The  World  presented  in  Art   [Harmony    of 

Classic  and  Romantic].  —  Act  III 
The  World  presented  as  Power  [Glory,  State, 
especially  Enterprise].  —  Act  IV 

The  two  worlds  clash :  Public  enterprise  struggling  with  Individual 
limitations.  —  Act  V.  [The  two  final  scenes  must  be  separated  as 
Epilogue  to  the  whole  poem.] 

Goethe's  Version :   Losing  the  Soul.  —  Pages  282-8 

In  the  action  of  the  poem  the  soul  of  Faust  appears  so  far  lost  that 
(1)  he  has  been  led  by  unquenchable  aspiration  after  truth  to  em- 
brace Magic  [dramatic  symbol  for  illegitimate  knowledge]  —  (2) 
in  his  love  of  Margaret  he  has  made  a  sudden  surrender  to  gross 
passion  that  works  her  ruin 

The  Epilogue  presents  the  soul  of  Faust  beyond  the  grave  (1)  pre- 
served for  redemption  by  its  unquenchable  aspiration,  though 
adulterated  by  elements  of  earth  —  (2)  by  Love  the  earthly 
elements  are  purged  out,  and  the  love  of  Margaret  is  seen  drawing 
him  to  a  mystic  region  of  heavenly  Love  in  which  the  redemption 
will  be  complete 

Bailey's  Version.  —  Pages  288-94 

Product  of  Modern  Speculative  Mysticism :  giving  creative  reality 
to  a  mass  of  theological,  ontological,  astrological  thinking,  on  a  basis 
of  traditional  orthodoxy  —  making  a  variant  of  the  Faust  Story  with 
new  elements :  Typical  position  of  Festus,  who  represents  the  end 
of  the  human  race  as  Adam  its  beginning  —  Basis  on  doctrine  of 
Election  and  omnipotent  Grace.  —  Underplots  of  aUied  temptations 
and  love  motives 


Gaining 
the  World 


Knowledge  [of  the  universe]  and  Power  [over  the 
human  world]  overruled  as  a  means  of  universal 
salvation 

[  477  ] 


SYLLABUS 

Losing  A  single  sin  of  passion  —  the  reaction  from  which 

the  Soul  culminates  in  universal  salvation 

Machinery  of  The  Tempter  is  Milton's  Satan  colored  in  manner 
Temptation  by  Goethe's  Mephistopheles  —  in  the  reaction 
the  Tempter  is  himseK  saved  by  the  love  he  has 
used  as  an  instrument  of  temptation 
The  Temptation  is  neither  Barter  nor  Wager,  but 
the  presentation  of  the  whole  world  as  in  the 
temptation  of  Christ 

Poetic  Form :  Rhapsodic  Drama  [as  in  bibUcal  prophecy] :  Scenic 
elements  extending  to  the  whole  universe  —  Dialogue  supplemented 
by  Episodic  Disquisitions  which  are  only  in  form  parts  of  the  dia- 
logue 

Chapter  VI.  —  Collateral  World  Literature 

The  study  of  collateral  world  hterature  must  not  be  confused  with 
the  study  of  universal  hterature,  which  must  exhibit  the  literary 
output  of  particular  nations. 

I.  From  Arabic  literature  come  the  Koran  and  the  Arabian  Nights 
—  form  and  matter  of  these.     (Pages  297-310.) 

II.  Indian  literature,  otherwise  of  high  importance,  enters  into  our 
world  literature  only  by  mediating  interpretation.     (Pages  310-12.) 

III.  From  Persian  literature  comes  the  Ruhaiyat  of  Omar  Khayyam, 
mainly  through  mediating  interpretation  of  Fitzgerald.  (Pages  312- 
18.) 

rV.   Celtic  Hterature.    Ossian  the  Celtic  Homer.     (Pages  318-25.) 

V.  Norse  epic  finds  Homeric  interpretation  in  William  Morris  — 
supreme  Uterary  importance  of  his  Sigurd.     (Pages  325-33.) 

VI.  From  the  group  of  Extraneous  Civilizations  we  have  the  Kale- 
vala  —  besides  intrinsic  beauty  this  has  the  double  interest  (1)  of 
putting  us  in  touch  with  a  distant  civihzation  (2)  bringing  home  to 
us  poetic  forms  far  down  the  scale  of  literary  evolution  (pages  333- 

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6).  —  Discussion  of  form  and  matter  of  the  poem  (pages  336-50)  — 
especially  dominance  of  the  one-two-three  form  (pages  338-46). 

Chapter  VII.  —  Comparative  Reading 

The  comparative  attitude  of  mind  has  application,  not  only  to 
Uterary  history  and  science,  but  also  to  appreciative  reading. 

Reading  group  centring  around  the  story  of  Alcestis.  —  The 
Alcestis  of  Euripides  —  Browning's  Balaustion  —  Alcestis 
the  Second  of  ALfieri  —  Love  of  Alcestis  in  William  Morris's 
Earthhj  Paradise  —  Longfellow's  Golden  Legend  [as  a  parallel 
in  Christian  surroundings] 

Another  reading  group  :  The  Bacchanals  of  Euripides  —  the 
Book  of  Ecclesiastes  —  the  Rubaiyat  of  Omar  Khayyam  — 
Tennyson's  Vision  of  Sin  —  the  Second  book  of  Spenser's 
Faerie  Queene 

Minor  groups 

Distinguish  carefully  between  comparative  reading  in  this  sense 
and  comparisons  of  merit. 

Chapter  VIII.  —  Essays  and  Lyrics 

The  Essay  [central  interest  of  author's  personality  —  fragmentari- 
ness  and  freedom  of  form]  —  and  [subjective]  Lyrics  —  these  make  a 
special  medium  for  Uterary  self-revelation  of  authors. 

The  Essay  in  World  Literature.  —  Pages  382-401 

Hebraic  origin:    wisdom  literature,  and  especially  Ecclesiasticus: 
development  of  the  Essay  out  of  the  Gnome. 

Modern  counterpart :  Essays  of  the  Bacon  type  —  modern  re- 
version to  Hebraic  type  in  Tupper  and  Walt  Wliitman. 

Hellenic  origin  less  marked:    especially  Epictetus  and  Marcus 
Aurelius. 

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Modern  Counterpart :  Type  of  Pascal,  La  Rochefoucauld,  etc. 

First  great  modification:  Plutarch  and  interest  of  Comparative 
Personality. 

Modern  Counterpart:    Character-writers  of  seventeenth  cen- 
tury. 

Second  great  modification:  Montaigne:  personality  in  flashes  — 
monologue  conversation. 

Third  great  modification  :  Type  of  Addison's  Spectator :  essays  plus  — 

1.  Periodical  machinery :  the  Essay  merges  in  the  Magazine  and 
floating  periodical  hterature. 

2.  Creative  frame  story  [Spectator  and  his  club] :    the  Essay 
merges  in  the  modern  Novel  [fusion  of  Essay  and  Story]. 

Modern  Essayists :  reversion  to  original  t3T)e  with  enlargement  — 
Macaulay,  Sainte-Beuve,  Emerson  —  interest  of  personaUty  flashed 
on  variety  of  topics. 

Lyrics  in  World  Literature.  —  Pages  402-6 

Hebraic  [compare  Book  of  Psalms]  and  Hellenic  [compare  Odes  of 
Horace].  —  Romantic  modification :  the  Sonnet  —  creative  frame 
in  the  Sonnet  Sequence. 

Chapter  IX.  —  Strategic  Points  in  World  Literature 

1.  Plato  [philosophy  dramatized]  —  Lucretius  [science  poetized]. 

2.  Aristophanes  [union  of  exalted  and  farcical]. 

3.  Mediaeval  group:    Romance  of  the  Rose  —  Reynard  the  Fox  — 

Everyman. 

4.  Morte  d' Arthur  [mediaeval  matter  vivified  by  modern  seriousness] 
—  Canterbury  Tales  [mediaeval  matter  vivified  by  modern  humor]. 

5.  Spenser's  Faerie  Queene  [meeting  point  of  classical,  romantic  and 

puritan]. 

[4801 


SYLLABUS" 

6.  Froissart's    Chronicles    [history    inspired    by    chivalry]  —  Don 

Quixote  [chivalry  passing  into  burlesque]. 

7.  On  the  threshold  of  the  modern  world  :  Erasmus  [modern  humor 

turned  on  medisevalism]  —  Bacon  [modern  philosophy  surveyed 
from  outside]. 

8.  Ancient  drama  of  situation  worked  out  in  modern  life :  Moli^re 

[comedy]  —  Racine  [tragedy]. 

9.  Sir  Walter  Scott  [romantic  epic  turned  in  all  directions]  —  Sien- 

kiewicz  [romantic  epic  concentrated  on  Slav  mediaeval  Ufe]. 

10.  Rabelais  [a  colossal  literary  curiosity]. 

11.  Balzac  [com^die  humaine]  —  Victor  Hugo  [trag^die  humaine]. 

12.  Literary  reaction  of  nineteenth  century  in  contrasted  types : 

Byron  —  Wordsworth. 

Chapter    X.  —  World    Literature    the    Autobiography    op 
Civilization 

A  national  literature  is  recognized  as  the  reflection  of  the  national 
history :  what  is  true  for  the  smaller  unit  of  the  nation  is  true  for 
the  larger  unit  of  civilization.  —  The  history  of  England  a  totally 
different  thing  from  the  history  of  English  civilization.  —  Philo- 
sophic history  can  only  analyze  civilization :  World  Literature  is 
civilization  presented  by  itself  —  thus  World  Literature  of  the 
nature  of  autobiography. 

Conclusion.  —  The  Place  of  World  Literature  in  Education 

The  study  of  World  Literature  has  a  field,  a  method,  a  scholarship 
of  its  own,  distinct  from  the  field,  method,  scholarship  of  other 
forms  of  literary  study. 

For  education  in  literature  the  existing  studies  of  Classics,  and 
of  Modern  Languages  and  English,  are  a  failure  —  this  would  cease 
to  be  the  case,  and  these  studies  would  retain  their  present  value,  if 
2 1  [481] 


SYLLABUS 

they  were  associated  with  the  study  of  World  Literature  in  Eng- 
lish. —  Moreover,  all  these  alternatives  ignore  the  Bible  as  an  essen- 
tial of  literary  education. 

World  Literature  is  not  a  special  study,  but  belongs  to  the  general 
side  of  education  —  and  to  all  stages  of  general  education,  elemen- 
tary and  advanced. 

In  our  schemes  of  Uberal  education  as  a  whole  it  is  the  general 
side  that  at  present  needs  strengthening  —  as  specialization  ad- 
vances there  is  need  from  time  to  tune  for  revision  of  the  whole 
field  of  knowledge,  and  so  for  reorganization  of  the  general  culture 
which  is  the  link  between  special  studies. 

Present  tendency  of  universities  to  narrow  into  schools.  —  True 
ideal  of  culture,  not  its  possession,  but  its  diffusion.  —  Ideal  of  a 
university  as  a  combination  of  teachers  and  investigators  sound : 
but  investigation  improperly  limited  to  new  knowledge  :  diffusion  of 
knowledge  a  form  of  enlargement  of  knowledge.  —  The  overempha- 
sis of  the  school  function  of  universities  has  a  disastrous  effect  on 
the  training  of  teachers:  broad  culture  the  best  training  for  the 
work  of  a  teacher. 

Rise  of  the  ideal  of  "university  extension" :  that  is,  culture  be- 
coming a  universal  interest  of  life.  —  The  term  implies  extension 
(1)  to  all  classes  (2)  to  the  whole  period  of  life.  —  Existing  schemes  of 
liberal  education  vitiated  by  confusion  with  the  school  function  of 
universities :  for  professional  training  concentration  in  a  limited 
period,  for  general  culture  extension  to  the  whole  of  life,  is  the  main 
thing.  —  Thus  the  cultural  teaching  of  universities  should  aim  at 
(1)  stimulation  of  interest  (2)  presentation  of  ground  plan  in  a  field 
of  study  as  chart  to  guide  study  of  the  future. 

Apart  from  the  action  of  imiversities,  the  "university  extension" 
ideal  remains :  volunteer  university  of  self-directed  education.  — 
To  this  World  Literature  has  a  special  appeal,  as  a  study  created 
by  the  general  reader  and  not  by  the  academic  world. 


[482 


LIST  OF   BOOKS 

A  formal  bibliography  for  a  work  like  the  present  would  be  im- 
practicable. What  is  offered  is  only  the  roughest  suggestions  on 
the  literature  touched  in  the  body  of  the  work,  intended  chiefly 
for  readers  who  have  not  access  to  other  sources  of  information. 

World  literature  at  the  present  time  is  being  opened  up  to  the 
general  reader  by  the  enterprise  of  leading  publishing  houses. 
Reference  is  made  below  to  such  series  as  The  Temple  Classics  and 
Everyman's  Library  [Dent,  London ;  Button,  New  York]  —  the 
Arber  Reprints  [Constable]  —  the  World's  Classics  [Oxford  Uni- 
versity Press]  —  Morley's  Universal  Library  [Routledge]  —  Bohn's 
Libraries  [Bell ;  Macmillan]. 

Addison :  see  under  Spectator. 

.ffischylus:    translations   (preserving  metrical  changes)   by  Lewis 
Campbell  [in  World's  Classics]  and  Plumptre  [D.  C.  Heath]. 

—  Separate  plays :  trilogy  of  Orestes  by  Anna  Swanwick  [Bell] 
and  by  E.  D.  A.  Morshead  as  "  The  House  of  Atreus  "  [Kegan 
Paul]  —  the  Suppliants  by  Morshead  [Kegan  Paul]  —  the 
Agamemnon  translated  by  Robert  Browning  —  the  Prometheus 
in  the  works  of  Mrs.  Browning. 

iEsop :   Caxton  translation  with  elaborate  introduction  by  Joseph 

Jacobs  [Nutt]. 
Alfieri :  verse  translation  by  E.  A.  Bowring  (two  volumes  of  Bohn's 

Libraries) . 
American   Literature :     see   under    Gosse.  —  Literary   History   of 

America  by  Barrett  Wendell  [Scribner]. 
Apocrypha :  Revised  Version  [Oxford  or  Cambridge  University  Press]. 

—  Three  books  {Wisdom  of  Solomon,  Ecclesiasticus,  Tobit)  are 
included  in  the  Modern  Reader's  Bible :  see  under  Bible.  — 
International  Journal  of  Apocrypha  [published  by  International 
Society  of  Apocrypha,  15  Paternoster  Row,  London]. 

[483] 


LIST  OF  BOOKS 

Apollonius  Rhodius :    translation  in  verse  of  the  Argonautica  by 

A.  S.  Way  [Temple  Classics]  —  prose  translation  with  notes 

by  E.  P.  Coleridge  [Bohn's  Libraries]. 
Arabian  Nights  Entertainments  :  one  volume  edition  [Routledge]  — 

many  others. 
Arabic  Literature :  see  under  Gosse. 
Aristophanes :  translations  (preserving  metrical  changes)  by  B.  B. 

Rogers  [Bell]  —  of  four  plays  by  Bartle    Frere   [in    World's 

Classics]  —  of  Birds  by  (late)  Professor  B.  H.  Kennedy  [Mac- 

millan]. 
Arnold,  Edwin :   "  The  Song  of  Songs  "  in  Indian  Poetry  volume  of 

his  works  [Kegan  Paul]  —  or  one  volume  edition  of  his  poems 

[Hurst]. 
Arnold,   Matthew:    Celtic  Literature,  one  volmne  of  Everjonan's 

Library — Select  Essays,  two  volumes  of  the  same.  —  Complete 

prose  works  (seven  voliunes)  pubUshed  by  Macmillan. 
Aurelius :  see  imder  Marcus. 

Bacon :    Advancement  of  Learning  edited  by  Aldis  Wright  [Oxford 
University  Press]  —  Essays  in  Temple  Classics,  etc. 

Bailey's  Festus.     [Routledge]. 

Balzac  :  see  under  De  Balzac. 

Beaumont  and  Fletcher :   Dramas  in  two  volumes  [Routledge]. 

Berlioz :  musical  version  of  Fatist  pubUshed  by  Schirmer,  New  York. 

Bible. 

The  Modem  Reader's  Bible :  Books  of  the  Bible,  with  three 
books  of  the  Apocrypha,  presented  in  modem  literary  form, 
edited  with  Introductions  and  Notes  by  Richard  G.  Moulton 
[Macmillan].  —  Complete  in  one  volimae  (1733  pages),  cloth  or 
leather.  —  The  same  in  twenty-one  separate  volmnes,  cloth  or 
leather.  [Genesis,  The  Exodus,  Deuteronomy,  The  Judges,  The 
Kings,  The  Chronicles ;  Isaiah,  Jeremiah,  Ezekiel,  Daniel  and 
the  Minor  Prophets;  The  Psalms  (two  volumes),  Biblical  Idyls 
(containing  Song  of  Songs  and  books  of  Esther,  Ruth,  and  Tobit) ; 
Proverbs,  Ecclesiasticus,  Ecclesiastes  and  Wisdom  of  Solomon, 
Job;  St.  Luke  and  St.  Paid  (two  volumes  containing  books  of 

[484] 


LIST  OF  BOOKS 

Luke  and  Acts  with  Pauline  Epistles  inserted),  St.  Matthew 
(including  General  Epistles),  St.  John].  —  Supplementary  vol- 
umes, intended  chiefly  for  young  people:  Bible  Stones  (Old 
Testament),  Bible  Stories  {New  Testament),  Biblical  Master- 
pieces.—  See  above,  note  to  page  64. 
The  Literary  Study  of  the  Bible :  An  Account  of  the  leading 
forms  of  literature  represented  in  the  sacred  writings :  by 
Richard  G.  Moulton  [Boston,  D.  C.  Heath;  London,  Isbis- 
ter  &  Co.]. 
Short  Introduction  to  the* Literature  of  the  Bible:  by  Richard 
G.  Moulton  [D.  C.  Heath]. 

Bickersteth  :    Yesterday,  To-day,  and  Forever  [Rivingtons]. 

Bidpai,  Fables  of:  translation  by  I.  G.  N.  Keith-Falconer  [Cam- 
bridge University  Press]. 

Boccaccio's  Decameron:  translation  published  by  Routledge  — 
translation  with  illustrations  by  Chatto  &  Windus. 

Bohemian  Literature  :  see  under  Gosse. 

Boito :   musical  version  of  Faust  published  by  Ricordi  [London]. 

Calderon :  Fitzgerald's  version  of  Calderon's  II  Magico  Prodigioso 
in  Eight  Plays  of  Calderon  translated  [Macmillan]. 

Celtic  Literature  :    see  under  Arnold,  Matthew. 

Cervantes'  Don  Quixote :  translation  of  P.  Motteux  in  Everyman's 
Library  (two  volumes). 

Chaucer :  Works  in  three  volumes  of  the  World's  Classics.  —  The 
Canterbury  Tales  (in  part)  edited  "  for  the  average  reader  "  by 
Principal  Burrell,  one  volume  of  Everyman's  Library. 

Chinese  Literature  :  see  under  Gosse. 

Cicero :  Essays  on  Old  Age  and  Friendship,  one  volume  in  Bohn's 
Libraries. 

Courthope,  W.  J. :  History  of  English  Poetry,  in  five  volumes 
[Macmillan]. 

Courts  of  Love :   by  J.  F.  Rowbotham  [Sonnenschein], 

Dante :  Divine  Comedy:  translation  with  notes  by  E.  H.  Plumptre 
[D.  C.  Heath]  —  Longfellow's  translation  [one  volume  of  Uni- 

[  485  ] 


LIST  OF  BOOKS 

versal  Library]  —  Gary's  translation  [one  volume  of  Every- 
man's Library]. —  Vita  Nuova  in  Rossetti's  translation  [Temple 
Classics]  —  Convivio  and  Latin  Works  translated  by  P.  H. 
Wicksteed  [two  volumes  of  Temple  Classics].  —  Mrs.  M.  F. 
Rossetti's  Shadow  of  Dante  [Rivingtons]  —  Dr.  W.  T.  Harris's 
Spiritual  Sense  of  Dante^s  Divina  Commedia  [Appleton]. 

De  Balzac.  Several  editions :  one  (^dth  Professor  Saintsbury's  in- 
troductions) in  40  volumes  [Button].  —  Single  novels  (with 
Saintsbury's  introductions)  make  volumes  in  Everyman's 
Library :  Wild  Ass^s  Skin,  Eugenie  Grandet,  Old  Goriot,  The 
Chouans,  The  Quest  of  the  Absolute,  Cov^n  Pons,  and  others. 

Don  Quixote  :  see  under  Cervantes. 

Dryden's  All  for  Love,  in  edition  of  his  complete  works. 

Earle  :  see  under  Microcosmography. 

English  Literature  :  see  under  Gosse. 

Epictetus :  translation  by  Elizabeth  Carter  in  Everyman's  Library : 
by  T.  W.  Higginson  [Little]. 

Erasmus  :  translation  of  Colloquies  [Gibbings]  —  of  Praise  of  Folly 
with  Holbein's  illustrations  [Scribner]. 

Euripides :  complete  translation  (observing  all  metrical  changes) 
by  A.  S.  Way  [Macmillan]  —  of  six  plays  ( Hippolytus,  Bac- 
chanals, Trojan  Women,  Electra,  Medea  in  one  volume,  and 
Iphigenia  in  Taurica  in  separate  volume)  by  Professor  Gilbert 
Murray  [Oxford  University  Press]  —  of  Bacchanals  by  Milman 
in  volume  58  of  Universal  Library.  The  other  plays  in  this 
volume,  and  volumes  54  and  61,  are  very  readable,  but  only 
partially  represent  the  metrical  changes.  —  A  version  of  the 
Hercules  in  Browning's  Aristophanes'  Apology. 

Everyman  (with  other  interludes)  in  Everyman's  Library. 

Faust,  Puppet  Play  of :  see  under  Hedderwick. 

Feltham's  Resolves:  in  Temple  Classics. 

Fitzgerald,  Edward :  Life  and  Literary  Remains,  edited  by  Aldis 
Wright,  in  three  volumes  [Macmillan].  Contains  versions  of 
Calderon's  II  Magico  Prodigioso  and  of  the  Ruhaiyat  of  Omar 
Khayyam. 

[486] 


LIST  OF  BOOKS 

French  Literature :   see  under  Gosse. 

Froissart's   Chronicles:    editions  by  Macmillan   or  Routledge. — 
Condensed  edition  in  Everyman's  Library. 

German  Literature :  see  under  Gosse. 

Goethe's  Faust :    translations  of  Bayard  Taylor  [Houghton]  —  of 

Theodore    Martin     [Blackwood]  —  of    Anna    Swanwick    [one 

volume  in  Bohn's  Libraries]  —  of  A.  G.  Latham  [one  volume  in 

Everyman's  Library].  —  Dr.  Anster's  version  is  free,  but  very 

suggestive  [two  volumes  in  Universal  Library:    the  first  also 

contains  Marlowe's  FauMus]. 
Golden  Legend  (Mediaeval) :   seven  volumes  in  Temple  Classics. 
Gosse,  Edmund :    Editor   of  Series  "  Literatures  of  the  World  " 

[Appleton]. 

American :  W.  P.  Trent. 

Arabic :  C.  Huart. 

Bohemian :  Count  Liitzow. 

Chinese :  H.  A.  Giles. 

(Modern)  English :  Edmund  Gosse. 

French :  Edward  Dowden. 

German :  Calvin  Thomas. 

(Ancient)  Greek :  Gilbert  Murray. 

Hungarian:  Riedl. 

Italian :  Richard  Garnett. 

Japanese :  W.  G.  Aston. 

Russian :  K.  Waliszewski. 

Sanskrit :  A.  A.  Macdowell. 
Gounod :    musical  version  of  Faust  [Schirmer,  New  York]. 
Gracian:    Art  of  Worldly  Wisdorn,  with    introduction  by  Joseph 

Jacobs  in  Golden  Treasury  Series  [Macmillan]. 
Greek  Drama :   Ancient  Classical  Drama,  A  Study  in  Literary  Evo- 
lution: by  Richard  G.  Moulton   [Oxford  University  Press]. — 

Greek  Theatre:    Haigh's   Attic    Theatre   [Oxford   University 

Press]. 
Greek  Literature  :  see  under  Gosse. 
Greek  Novels:   Greek  Romances  in  one  volume  of  Bohn's  Libra- 

[487] 


LIST  OF  BOOKS 

ries  —  Apuleius's  works,  one  volume  of  Bohn's  Libraries  — 

Apuleius's  Cupid  and  Psyche,  one  volume  of  Temple  Classics. 
Greek   Orators:    Orations  of    Demosthenes  translated  by   Rann 

Kennedy,  five  volumes  in  Bohn's  Libraries  —  oration  On  the 

Crown  also  published  as  separate  volume. 
Grote :  History  of  Greece  (full  on  the  literary  side),  twelve  volumes 

in  Everyman's  Library. 

Harrison,  Frederic :  Choice  of  Books  [Macmillan]. 

Hedderwick,  T.  H.  C. :  Dr.  Faustus  (contains  Puppet  Play).  [Ke- 
gan  Paul]. 

Hesiod :  translation  (prose)  in  Bohn's  Libraries. 

Homer :  Iliad.  Translation  in  ballad  hexameters  by  A.  S.  Way  [Low] 
—  in  prose  (but  of  exceptional  value)  by  Lang,  Leaf,  and  Myers 
[Macmillan]  —  in  blank  verse  by  Bryant  [Houghton]  —  in 
heroic  couplets  by  Pope  [in  World's  Classics]  —  in  Alexandrines 
by  Chapman  [two  volumes  of  Temple  Classics].  —  Many  others. 

Homer:  Odyssey.  Translation  in  ballad  hexameters  by  William 
Morris  [Longmans]  — in  blank  verse  by  Bryant  [Houghton]  — 
in  Spenserian  stanzas  by  Worsley  [Blackwood]  —  in  heroic 
couplets  by  Chapman  [two  volumes  in  Temple  Classics]  — 
in  rhythmical  prose  (an  interesting  experiment)  by  G.  H. 
Palmer  [Houghton].  —  Many  others. 

Horace :  Odes  by  various  translators,  one  volume  in  Temple  Clas- 
sics. —  Epodes  translated  by  A.  S.  Way  [Macmillan].  —  Satires 
(and  other  poems)  translated  by  Conington  [Bell]. 

Hugo,  Victor :  Dramas  (three)  translated  in  one  volume  of  Bohn's 
Libraries.  —  Novels :  many  editions  :  e.g.  Les  Miserables  [two 
volumes]  and  Notre  Dame  [one  volume]  in  Everyman's  Library. 
[L'  Homme  qui  rit  variously  translated  as  By  the  King's  Com- 
mand or  The  Man  who  Laughs.] 

Hungarian  Literature :  see  under  Gosse. 

Hymns  (Latin) :  R.  C.  Trench's  Sacred  Latin  Poetry  [Kegan  Paul]. 

Indian  Literature :  Frazer's  Literary  History  of  India  [Scribner].  — 
See  also  Sanskrit  Literature  under  Gosse. 

[488] 


LIST  OF  BOOKS 

Irish   Literature:    Douglas   Hyde's    Literary    History   of   Ireland 

[Scribner]. 
Italian  Literature :  see  under  Gosse. 

Japanese  Literature :  see  under  Gosse. 

Jonson,  Ben  :  his  Timber  edited  by  Gollancz  in  Temple  Classics. 

Kalevala:  translated  by  Kirby  [two  volumes  of  Everyman's  Li- 
brary] —  translation  and  introduction  by  J.  M.  Crawford 
[Robert  Clarke  Company,  Cincinnati]. 

Koran :  elaborate  edition,  translation  by  G.  H.  Palmer,  in  Sacred 
Books  of  the  East :  two  volumes  [Oxford  University  Press]  — 
Rodwell's  translation  in  Everyman's  Library.  —  Many  others. 

La  Bruyere  :  translated  as  Morals  and  Manners  of  Seventeenth  Cen- 
tury by  Helen  Stott  [McClurg]. 

La  Rochefoucauld :  Reflections  and  Moral  Maxims  with  introductory 
essay  by  Sainte-Beuve  [Chatto  and  Windus]. 

Lucretius :  monumental  edition  of  Munro  in  three  volumes,  the 
translation  volume  sold  separately  [Deighton]  —  translation  by 
Cyril  Bailey  in  Oxford  Library  of  Translations  [Oxford  Univer- 
sity Press]. 

Luther :    Table  Talk  in  National  Library  [Cassell]. 

Macaulay :  Essays  in  two  volumes  of  Everyman's  Library. 

Mackail :   Life  of  William  Morris  in  two  volumes  [Longmans]. 

Macpherson :  see  Ossian. 

Malory's  Morte  d' Arthur:   Globe  edition  [Macmillan]. 

Marcus  Aurelius :   Meditations  in  Temple  Classics. 

Marlowe's  Life  and  Death  of  Dr.  Faustus:  many  editions:  e.g.  in 
Universal  Library  (with  First  Part  of  Goethe's  Faust)  —  in 
Temple  Classics  —  edited  by  Ward  [Oxford  University  Press]. 

Microcosmography  (Earle's) :  in  Arber  Reprints  or  Temple  Classics. 

Milton :   Clarendon  Press  edition  [Oxford  University  Press]. 

Molifere  :  elaborate  edition  (translation)  by  Van  Laun  in  six  volumes 
[Barrie,   Philadelphia]  —  prose   version   in  three  volumes   of 

[489] 


LIST  OF  BOOKS 

Bohn's  Library.  —  New  and  spirited  version  by  Curtis  Hidden 

Page,  in  two  volumes  [Putnam]. 
Montaigne :    in  three  volumes  of  Everyman's  Library  —  or  three 

volumes  in  World's  Classics  —  in  one  volume  [Routledge]. 
Morris,  William :  all  his  works  mentioned  in  the  text  are  published 

by  Longmans.  —  Syllabus  of  Study  in  the  Poetry  and  Fiction  of 

William  Morris  by  Richard  G.  Moulton  [Chicago  University 

Press]. 
Morte  d'Arthur  :  see  under  Malory. 
Moulton,  Richard  G. :  see  under  Bible,  Greek  Drama,  Shakespeare. 

Nibelungenlied :    Fall  of  the  Nibelungs  one  volume  of  Everyman's 

Library — verse  translation  by  W.  N.  Lettsom  [Wilhams]  —  by 

Alice  Horton  [Macmillan]. 
Norse  Sagas :    in  the  Saga  Library  edited  by  William  Morris  and 

Magnusson    [Quaritch]  —  the    Laxdale    Saga    translated    by 

Muriel  A.  C.  Press  in  Temple  Classics. 

Omar  Khayyam:  his  Rubaiyat  in  Fitzgerald's  version  published 
by  Macmillan,  and  many  others.  —  See  under  Fitzgerald. 

Ossian :  the  Macpherson  poems  published  by  Macmillan. 

Overbury,  Sir  Thomas  :  Works  [Scribner]. 

Ovid :  translation  of  his  poems  (prose)  in  three  volumes  of  Bohn's 
Libraries.  —  Verse  translation  of  the  Metamorphoses  by  Henry 
King  [Blackwood]. 

Palgrave's  Golden  Treasury  in  Everyman's  Library. 

Pascal :  the  Pensees  translated  by  W.  F.  Trotter  in  Temple  Classics. 

Percy  Ballads :  as  Reliques  of  Ancient  English  Poetry,  two  volmnes 
in  Everyman's  Library.     Several  other  editions. 

Petrarch :   translation  in  Bohn's  Library. 

Plato :  monumental  translation  and  commentary  of  Jowett  in  five 
volumes  [Oxford  University  Press]  —  Cary's  translation  in  six 
volumes  of  Bohn's  I^ibraries.  —  Separate  dialogues :  the  Re- 
public as  volume  611,  and  others  as  volumes  456  and  457  in 
Everyman's  Library.  —  Many  other  translations :  e.g.  of  the 
Gorgias  by  E.  M.  Cope  [Deighton]. 

[490] 


LIST  OF  BOOKS 

Plautus :  prose  translation  in  two  volumes  of  Bohn's  Libraries  — 
verse  translation  in  four  volumes  by  Bonnell  Thornton  out  of 
print. 

Plutarch's  Lives:  North's  translation  in  ten  volumes  of  Temple 
Classics  —  Dryden's  translation  edited  by  Clough  in  three 
volumes  of  Everyman's  Library  —  Langhorne's  translation  in 
one  volume  [Routledge]. 

Rabelais :   translation  with  illustrations  by  Gustave  Dor6  [Chatto 

and  Windus]. 
Racine :  metrical  version  by  R.  B.  Boswell  in  two  volumes  of  Bohn's 

Libraries. 
Reynard  the  Fox :   translation  of  F.  S.  Ellis,  with  designs  by  Walter 

Crane  [Nutt]. 
Rochefoucauld :   see  under  La  Rochefoucauld. 
Romance  of  the  Rose  :  version  of  F.  S.  Ellis  in  three  volumes  of  the 

Temple  Classics. 
Rossetti,  Mrs. :  see  imder  Dante. 
Russian  Literature :   see  under  Gosse. 

Sackville :  Works  [Scribner].  —  His  Induction  etc.,  in  Southey's 
British  Poets. 

Sainte-Beuve.  Essays  translated  by  Sharp  [Gibbings  or  Lippincott] 
—  Portraits,  by  Wormeley  and  Ives  [Putnam]. 

Saintsbury,  Professor  George :  editor  of  Series  "  Periods  of  Euro- 
pean Literature"  [Scribner].  —  The  Dark  Ages  (W.  P.  Ker) 
—  The  Flourishing  of  Romance  and  the  Rise  of  Allegory 
(editor)  —  The  Fourteenth  Century  (F.  J.  Snell)  —  The  Tran- 
sition Period  (G.  Gregory  Smith)  —  The  Earlier  Renaissance 
(editor)  —  The  Later  Renaissance  (David  Hannay)  —  The 
First  Half  of  17th  Century  (H.  J.  C.  Grierson)  —  The  Augus- 
tan Ages  (Oliver  Elton)  —  The  Mid-Eighteenth  Century  (J. 
H.  Millar)  —  The  Romantic  Revolt  (C.  E.  Vaughan)  —  The 
Romantic  Triumph  (T.  S.  Omond)  —  The  Later  Nineteenth 
Century  (editor). 

Sanskrit  Literature  :  see  under  Gosse. 

[491] 


LIST  OF  BOOKS 

Schumann :  musical  version  of  Faust  published  by  Novello,  Lon- 
don. 

Scott,  Sir  Walter :  poems  in  Globe  edition  [Macmillan]  —  novels  in 
48  volumes  of  Temple  Classics.  —  Many  other  editions. 

Seeley,  Sir  J.  R. :    Natural  Religion  [Macmillan]. 

Selden :   Table  Talk  in  Temple  Classics,  or  National  Series  [Cassell]. 

Seneca  :  Essays  :  On  Benefits  in  Temple  Classics  —  Minor  Essays 
translated  by  Aubrey  Stewart  in  Bohn's  Libraries. 

Seneca :  Tragedies  :  verse  translation  (retaining  metrical  changes) 
with  notes,  etc.,  by  F.  J.  Miller  [Chicago  University  Press]. 

Shakespeare :  Shakespeare  as  a  Dramatic  Artist  [Oxford  University 
Press]  and  Shakespeare  as  a  Dramatic  Thinker  [Macmillan]  by 
Richard  G.  Moulton. 

Sienkiewicz :  novels  translated  by  Jeremiah  Curtin  and  others 
[Little,  Brown  &  Co.]. 

Sophocles :  translations  (preserving  metrical  changes)  by  Lewis 
Campbell  [in  World's  Classics]  and  Plumptre  [D.  C.  Heath]. — 
Translation  of  (Edipus  the  King  by  E.  D.  A.  Morshead  [Mac- 
millan]. 

Southey's  Curse  of  Kehama  in  National  Library  [Cassell]. 

Spectator  of  Addison,  etc. :  four  volumes  in  EverjTuan's  Library 
edited  by  Gregory  Smith — in  one  volmne  [Macmillan]. — 
Selections,  excellently  arranged,  edited  by  T.  Arnold  [Oxford 
University  Press]. 

Spenser's  Faerie  Queene:   Globe  edition  [Macmillan]. 

Spohr's  musical  version  of  Faust :  only  in  libraries. 

Stanley's  History  of  the  Jewish  Church  (touching  largely  upon 
biblical  literature)  in  three  volumes  [Scribner]. 

Swinburne  :   Atalanta  in  Calydon  [Chatto]  —  Erechtheus  [Chatto]. 

Terence  :   prose  translation  in  Bohn's  Libraries  —  verse  translation 

by  Colman  out  of  print. 
Theocritus :    translation  of  A.  Lang  in  Golden  Treasury  Series 

[Macmillan]. 
Thucydides :     translation    by    Richard    Crawley    in    Everyman's 

Library  —  by  Dale  (two  volumes)  in  Bohn's  Libraries. 

[492] 


LIST  OF  BOOKS 

Tottel's  Miscellany :   in  Arber  Reprints. 

Tupper,  Martin :   Proverbial  Philosophy  [Ward ;  Darrow]. 

Universal   Literature,   Handbook   of:    by   Mrs.   A.   C.   L.   Botta 

[Houghton]. 

Virgil :  translation  of  Mneid  in  ballad  hexameters  by  William 
Morris  [Longmans]  —  in  Scott's  metre  (an  interesting  experi- 
ment) by  Conington  [Longmans].  In  Professor  Conington's 
edition  of  Virgil  with  English  notes  [three  volumes  of  the 
Bibliotheca  Classica  published  by  Bell]  the  Introductions  have 
a  bearing  on  general  literature.  —  Translation  of  the  ^neid 
by  Fairfax  Taylor  in  Everyman's  Library.  —  Dryden's  trans- 
lation in  the  World's  Classics.  —  Translation  of  Eclogues  and 
Georgics  by  T.  F.  Royds  in  Everyman's  Library. 

Wagner :  translation  of  Ring  of  Nibelung  by  G.  T.  Dippold  [Holt] 
—  by  H.  and  F.  Corder,  German  and  English  on  opposite 
pages  [Schott  &  Co.,  London]. 

Way,  Arthur  S. :  translator :  see  imder  ApoUonius,  Euripides, 
Homer,  Horace. 

Whitman,  Walt :   complete  works  [McKay], 

Xenophon :  translation  of  the  Memorabilia  in  Temple  Classics. 


[4931 


GENERAL  INDEX 


Acts,  book  of :  90,  93-4. 

Addison  395,  397-400. 

iEschylus  15,  101. 

^sop  414. 

Agglutination  156. 

Alcestis  group  of  poems  352-72. 

Alexander  the  Great  10,  86. 

Alfieri  358-60. 

Allegory  44. 

Ancestral  literatures  51. 

Anglo-Saxon  literature  444. 

ApoUonius  100,  112. 

Arabian  Nights  Entertainments  304- 
10. 

Arabic  civilization  12,  32-5,  52  —  in 
collateral  world  literature  298-310. 

Arabic  language  33,  306. 

Arabic  medicine  33. 

Arabic  notation  33-4. 

Argonautica  100. 

Argonautic  group  of  poems  100, 
111-3. 

Aristophanes  411-3. 

Aristotle  71. 

Arnold,  Edwin:  311,  378. 

Arnold,  Matthew:    13,  321. 

Art  motive  in  Goethe's  Faust  272-7. 

Aryan  civilizations  11,  12,  52. 

Assyrian  civilization  12,  52,  297. 

Astrological  ideas  185-6,  292. 

Authorized  Version  of  Bible  61. 

Autobiographical  form  of  the  Bible 
74-6  —  world  literature  the  auto- 
biography of  civilization  56  and 
Chapter  X. 

Babylonian  civilization  52,  297. 

Bacchanals  group  of  poems  372-6. 

Bacon  38,  39,  386  —  his  place  in  the 
evolution  of  the  essay  385-7  —  a 
strategic  point  in  literature  419-20. 


Bailey's  Festus  173,  220,  288-9  — 
especially  289-94. 

Balzac:  see  De  Balzac. 

Beatrice  and  Dante  192-4. 

Beaumont  and  Fletcher  379. 

Berlioz  220. 

Best  Books  1,  464. 

Bible,  The  Holy :  as  one  of  the  lit- 
erary bibles  54,  295  and  Chapter  I 

—  its  omission  from  liberal  edu- 
cation 446-7  —  loss  of  literary 
form  in  the  Middle  Ages  and 
recovery  59-64   (compare  21,  48) 

—  conception  of  the  Bible  as  lit- 
erature 20,  72-3,  76  — its  frame- 
work of  history  22,  73-4,  85-6  — 
its  leading  literary  motives  22-6 

—  interest  of  its  literary  forms 
65-71  —  unity  of  the  Bible  65, 
72-97  —  its  general  literary  form 
73-6  —  suggestion  of  autobio- 
graphic form  74  —  its  threefold 
division  76  (compare  76-97)  — 
its  detailed  structure  77-80  —  its 
dramatic  movement  80-4. 

Bible,  New  Testament :  24,  75  —  its 
literary  structure  90  —  its  dra- 
matic movement  91-7. 

Bible,  Old  Testament:  23,  75  —  its 
literary  structure  77-80  —  its  dra- 
matic movement  80-4. 

Bible,  Wisdom  books :  as  interlude 
between  Old  and  New  Testaments 
76-7,  84-90  —  its  general  spirit 
84  —  its  movement  90. 

Biblical  discourse  67-8  —  doom  form 
69  —  drama  66-7  —  epic  or  story 
66  —  essay  70  —  idyls  65  —  lyrics 
68  —  philosophy  (or  wisdom)  69- 
71  —  prose  and  verse  68  —  sonnet 
70,  403  note. 


495 


GENERAL  INDEX 


Bickersteth's    Yesterday,   Today,   and 

Forever  196  note,  211-3. 
Bidpai  307. 
Boccaccio  306. 
Boito  220. 
Browning  403  —  his  Balaustion  356- 

8. 
Bunyan's  Pilgrim's  Progress  379. 
Byron    in    Goethe's    Faust    276  —  in 

strategic  points  of  literature  426- 

7. 

Calderon  220  —  his  version  of  the 
Faust  Story  231-7. 

Carlstadt  30. 

Carlyle  401. 

Catholicism  30-1,  180-1,  195. 

Celtic  [Keltic]  civilization  and  litera- 
ture 12,  52,  318-25. 

Cervantes'  Don  Quixote  417-8. 

Chart  of  world  literature  12,  51,  52, 
295. 

Chaucer  306,  416. 

Chinese  civilization  and  literature 
12,  52,  333. 

Chivalry  43,  193. 

Chorus  in  Greek  tragedy  149,  422 
—  in  Greek  comedy  412-3. 

Cicero  390. 

Civilization  the  common  ground 
between  the  humanity  studies 
431 — history  of  English  civiliza- 
tion distinct  from  history  of  Eng- 
land 432-5. 

Classical  and  Romantic  49-50,  219, 
especially  273-7. 

Classical  Drama,  relation  of,  to 
Shakespeare :    172-6. 

Classical  Echoing :  in  Paradise  Lost 
196-219  —  compare  102-11,  112-3, 
153,  163. 

Classical  Epic  and  Tragedy  as  one  of 
the  literary  bibles  54  and  Chapter 
II  —  scheme  of  poems  100-1  — 
the  thinking  of  successive  epochs 
upon  a  common  floating  tra- 
dition 102-11 — embodiment  of 
prehistoric  civilization  108  — •  has 
had  the  prerogative  voice  in  art 
109  —  the    Argonautic    group    of 


poems   111-3 — the  Iliad   113-34 

—  the  Odyssey  134-47  —  tragedy 
touching  epic  themes  147-52  — 
Virgil's  ^neid  152-63. 

Classics  as  a  study  99,  218,  441-6. 

Classics,  Hebraic :    71. 

Clergy  28  —  benefit  of  29 

Collateral  world  literature  13,  55 
and  Chapter  VI. 

Comparative  Literature  2,  55,  351. 

Comparative  Reading  55  and  Chapter 
VII  —  distinguished  from  merit- 
comparisons  380. 

Complication  and  Resolution  134, 
154-6. 

Concealed  imagery  314,  318. 

Conington  on  classical  echoing  213- 
5. 

Courthope  444. 

Courts  of  Love  193. 

Covenant  as  a  biblical  term  23. 

Criticism,  basis  of :  178  —  its  func- 
tion in  the  spiritual  world  243-4 

—  Greek  criticism  19  —  criticism 
in  abeyance  in  the  Middle  Ages 
45  —  Shakespeare  criticism  a  series 
of  retreating  attacks  167  —  tech- 
nical analysis  of  Shakespearean 
plot  inadequate  168. 

Crusades  34,  43. 

Culture.  General  Culture  associated 
with  world  literature  447-9  — 
needs  strengthening  449-53.  — 
Variations  in  conception  of  culture 
454-6  —  broad  culture  the  essen- 
tial preparation  for  teaching 
458-9. 

Culture,  Modern:  12,  49-52  — 
basis  of  Goethe's  version  of  the 
Faust  Story  221,  237-9. 

Dante  and  Milton  as  one  of  the 
literary  bibles  54,  179  and  Chapter 
IV  —  Dante  as  representative  of 
medisevalism  31,  180  —  mediaeval 
elements  in  the  Divine  Comedy 
180-194  —  its  mediaeval  limita- 
tions 189-92  —  its  sjTnbolism  181- 
4  —  Dante  and  Beatrice  192-4  — 
the  Vita  Nuova  405. 


496 


GENERAL  INDEX 


De  Balzac  425-6. 

Destiny :  idea  absent  from  the  Bible 
88  —  Greek  tragedy  the  worship 
of  Destiny  150  —  Destiny  and  De- 
ity in  the  Iliad  119-23,  131— in 
tragedy  150-1  —  Destiny  motive 
in  the  ^neid  159-62  —  in  Norse 
poetry  326-8. 

Deuteronomy  66,  78. 

Doom  form  in  Scripture  69. 

Dowden  381. 

Drama,  of  situation:  17,  41,  149, 
421  —  oratorical  78.  —  See  Rhap- 
sodic. 

Dryden  379,  419,  426. 

Earle  393-5. 

Ecclesiastes  84-9,  385  —  one  of  the 
Bacchanals  group  of  poems  372- 
6. 

Ecclesiasticus  84  —  connected  with 
evolution  of  the  essay  383-7. 

Egyptian  civilization  52,  297. 

Emblem  prophecy  67. 

Emerson  5,  401. 

English  Literature  distinguished  from 
Literature  in  English  444,  464. 

English  studies  443-6. 

Enterprise  motive  in  Goethe's  Faust 
278. 

Epic :  Religious  epic  of  the  Middle 
Ages  40  —  epic  in  the  Bible  65  — - 
evolution  of  (Greek)  epic  poetry 
103,  compare  102-6  —  epics  of 
Dante  and  Milton  as  one  of  the 
literary  bibles  179  and  Chapter  IV 

—  struggle  of  epic  and  lyric  in  the 
Kalevala  336  and  fol.  —  Romantic 
epic  of  Scott  423-4. 

Epictetus  390. 

Epilogue:    to  Goethe's  Faust  283-8 

—  to  the  Old  Testament  82-4  — 
to  the  New  Testament  (and  the 
whole  Bible)  96-7. 

Epistles  of  New  Testament:  Colos- 
sians  95  —  Ephesians  95  —  He- 
brews 96  —  Philippians  95  — 
Romans  94. 

Erasmus  38-9  —  as  a  strategic  point 
in  literature  418-9. 


Essay :  in  Scripture  70  —  as  a  lit- 
erary organ  of  personality  381  and 
Chapter  VIII  [compare  Syllabus, 
pages  479-80]  —  evolution  of  the 
essay  in  world  literature  383- 
401  [compare  Syllabus,  pages  479— 
80]. 

Euripides  14,  15,  45,  100,  101,  107, 
151-2  —  in  relation  to  Seneca  422 

—  his  Alcestis  352-6  (compare 
356-72)  —  Bacchanals  373-4  (com- 
pare 374-6). 

Everyman  379,  414. 

Evolution  of  epic  poetry  103  (com- 
pare 102-11) — in  Norse  poetic 
philosophy  326-8. 

Ewigweibliche  194,  287-8. 

Extraneous  group  of  civilizations  12, 
52,  333. 

Ezekiel  68. 

Fathers,  the  Christian :  36. 

Faust  Story,  Versions  of:  as  one  of 
the  literary  bibles  54  and  Chapter 
V  [compare  Syllabus,  pages  474— 
8].  —  Great  masters  attracted 
by  the  story  220  —  germ  of  the 
Faust  Story  and  triple  formula 
221-2  —  mediseval  versions   222-3 

—  Marlowe's  version  224-31  — 
Calderon's  [Fitzgerald's]  version 
231-7— Goethe's   version    237-88 

—  Bailey's  version  288-94. 
Feltham  387-8. 

Feudal  System  31,  43. 

Finnish    civilization    and    literature 

12,  52,  333-50. 
Fitzgerald  as  example  of  mediating 

interpretation     231     note,     311-2 

—  his  version  of  Calderon's  II 
Magico  Prodigioso  231-7  —  of 
Omar  Khayyam  312-18. 

Fletcher  379. 

Floating  literature  45,    102-11,    173, 

306,  320,  398,  423. 
Fool  246,  261. 

Foreshortening  of  story  139,  155. 
Frame  Story  306-10,  398-400. 
Frere,  Bartle:  411. 
Froissart  417. 


2k 


[497 


GENERAL  INDEX 


Gay  Science  44,  193. 

General  culture,  its  association  with 
world  literature :   447-9. 

General  side  of  education  needs 
streugthouiug  449-53. 

Geocentric  184,  216-8. 

German  Drama  239. 

Germanic  civTlization  12,  27,  52. 

Goethe's  Faust  as  one  version  of  the 
Faust  Story:  237-88  —  the  ex- 
pression of  modern  culture  237-9 

—  German  Drama  239  —  ma- 
chinery of  temptation  240-51  — 
relation  to  the  Book  of  Job  241-70 

—  conception  of  "  world  "  251-2  — 
Part  First  252-60  —  interlude  be- 
tween the  parts  260-1  —  Part 
Second  260-88  —  epilogue  to  the 
whole  poem  283  —  salvation  or 
loss  of  the  soul  282-8. 

Golden  Legend  (mediaeval)  40  —  (of 
Longfellow)  367-72. 

Gospels:  of  Luke  90,  91-2  —  of 
Matthew  96  —  of  John  96. 

Gothic  architecture  36. 

Gounod  220. 

Greek  architecture  18  —  art  18  — 
comedy  411-3  —  criticism  19,  65, 
71  —  culture  152-3  —  drama  of 
situation  17,  41,  149,  421  — ethics 
18  —  logic  and  dialectic  19  — 
music  18  —  orators  99  —  phi- 
losophy 17  —  tragedy  99-101,  147, 
148-9,  149-50,  150-1. 

Hebraic  civilization  and  literature  12, 
52  —  Introduction   and    Chapter  I 

—  spirit  of  Hebraic  factor  in  our 
culture  20-6  —  Hebraic  classics 
22,  71. 

Hellenic  civilization  and  literature 
12,  52  —  Introduction  and  Chap- 
ter II  —  spirit  of  Hellenic  factor 
in  our  culture  13-20. 

Hesiod  326. 

Holy  Catholic  Church  31. 

Holy  Roman  Empire  30. 

Homer :  Chapter  II  passim  [see  also 
Syllabus,  pages  471-3]  —  Homeric 
Question    105-6  —  Homeric  simile 


132-4,  204  — Ossian  the  Celtic 
Homer  325  —  William  Morris  the 
English  Homer  111-2,  325  — 
homerization  344. 

Homer :  Uiad :  plot  and  movement 
113-6  —  motive  structure  116  — 
war  motive  116-8  —  providence 
motive  118-21  —  interference  of 
deities  121-3  —  relief  element  123-4 
—  Olympic  life  the  comic  element 
of  the  Iliad  124-30  —  Homeric 
civilization  130-1  —  nature  interest 
of  the  poem  131-4. 

Homer  :  Odyssey  :  plot  and  move- 
ment 134-40  —  mj'thologicai  ele- 
ment of  special  interest  141-7. 

Horace  402. 

Hugo,  Victor :  dramas  420-2  — 
novels  425-6. 

Humanity  studies  2,  434-5  —  com- 
pare 441-65. 

Humor  in  relation  to  Goethe's  Faust 
244-7. 

Hymns  :  Latin  36  —  prose  hymns  in 
wisdom  books  70. 

Icelandic  sagas  325  —  compare  325- 

33. 
Ideas,  Platonic  Theory  of :   264. 
Immortality,  Idea  of:  in  wisdom  lit- 
erature 86-9. 
Indian  civilization  and  literature  12, 

52,  310-2. 
Individuality  as  a  factor  in  literature 

166. 
Interlude       (mediaeval)      41  —  (in 

Goethe's  Faust)  260-1. 
Interpretation    of    exegesis    and    of 

perspective  64. 
Intrinsic   value  of  literature  one  of 

the    principles    underljdng    world 

literature  8. 
Introversion  115. 

Involution  (in  story  form)  309, 307-10. 
Isaiahan  Rhapsody  26,  67,  82-4,  91. 
Islam  34. 

Jacobs,  Joseph :   414,  487. 
Japanese  civilization  and  literature 
12,  52,  333. 


498 


GENERAL  INDEX 


Jeremiah  67,  80. 

Job,   Book  of:    66,  70,  229  note — 

influence     of     its     prologue     on 

Goethe's  Faust  241-7. 
Joel  67. 

Johnson,  Samuel:   319,  426. 
Jonson,  Ben  :  391,  393. 
Juvenal  419. 

Kalevala  333-50. 
Koran  298-304. 

La  Bruyere  391. 

La  Rochefoucauld  391. 

Latin  language  32,  298  —  hymns  36. 

Lauder  controversy  197. 

Literary  bibles  53  and  Chapters  I-V. 

Literature:    comparative  2,  55,  351 

—  philosophy  of  2  —  unity  of  1-9 

—  universal  distinguished  from 
world  literature  296-7.  —  See 
World  Literature. 

Longfellow :      Golden     Legend     352, 

367-72  —  Hiawatha  334. 
Lucifer      (in      Longfellow's     Golden 

Legend)  368  and  fol.  —  (in  Bailey's 

F est  us)  289-94. 
Lucretius  410-11. 
Luther  30  —  his  Table  Talk  391. 
Lyric :    struggle  of  lyric  and  epic  in 

the  Kalevala  336  and  fol.  —  LjtIcs 

as  a  literary  organ  of  personality 

402-6. 

Macaulay  401. 

Macpherson  319-25. 

Magic  :  element  of  medisevalism  44-5, 

222-3  —  an  element  of  the  Faust 

Story   223,    224-5,    232-3,    238-9, 

261,  281. 
Malory  416-7. 

Manuscript  writing,  art  of :   60. 
Marcus  Aurelius  390. 
Margaret  episode  in  Goethe's  Faust 

257-9,  260,  283-8. 
Mariolatry  44,  193,  287. 
Marlowe    220  —  his   version   of   the 

Faust  Story  224-31. 
Marriage  poetry  347-50,  376-8. 
Masquerade     motive     in     Goethe's 

Faust  262-3. 


Mediaeval:    drama   41,    173,    246  — 

morality  262  —  mystery  284-8  — 
science  37. 

Mediaevalism :  26-51,  304,  306  — 
its  connection  with  Shakespeare 
172  — Dante  180-94  —  the  Faust 
Story  222  —  Longfellow's  Golden 
Legend  367. 

Mediating  Interpretation  231,  311-2, 
334,  376,  378. 

Melancthon  48. 

Mephistopheles  226,  240-51  (com- 
pare 240-84)  —  relationship  to  the 
Satan  of  Job  241-7  —  his  playing 
an  assumed  role  241,  248-51. 

Mephistophilis  226  (compare  224-31). 

Microcosmography  393-5. 

Migratory  races  27. 

Milton :  his  Paradise  Lost  and  Dante's 
Divine  Comedy  combined  as  one 
of  the  literary  bibles  54,  179  and 
Chapter  IV  —  Paradise  Lost  the 
epic  of  Renaissance  Protestantism 
194-219  —  establishes  Protestant 
thought  on  the  literary  foundation 
of  the  Bible  195-6  —  the  great 
representative  of  classical  echoing 
196-219  —  relation  to  Bailey's  Fes- 
tus  289. 

Miracle  Play  41,  173,  246. 

Modern  Language  studies  443-6. 

Moliere  420-2. 

Montaigne  395-7. 

Morality  262. 

Morris,  William :  as  the  English 
Homer    111-2  — his   Jason    111-2 

—  Earthly  Paradise  361  —  Story 
of  Alcestis  360-7  —  Sigurd  112, 
32.5-33,  379  —  House  of  the  Wolf- 
ings  361. 

Movement  as  an  element  of  action 
113  — in  the  Bible  72,  73,  84  — 
in  the  Old  Testament  80-2  — 
New  Testament  91-7  —  wisdom 
literature  90  —  movement  of  Iliad 
114-6  — of  Odyssey  139-41  —  of 
^7ieid   155-7  —  of    Kalevala    345. 

—  Forms  of  movement :  fore- 
shortening of  story  139,  155  — 
introversion  115. 


499 


GENERAL  INDEX 


Murray,  Gilbert:  5. 

Music  IS,  50. 

Mystery  (mcdioeval)  284-8  —  Mys- 
tery of  the  Mothers  in  Goethe's 
Faiist  264-5  — of  Demons  284 
—  of  Love  284-8. 

Mysticism  44,  186,  221. 

Mythology  motive  in  the  Odyssey 
141-7. 

Nahum  69. 

Nature  :   treatment  of  it  in  the  Iliad 

131-4.  —  Dramatic  background  of 

nature     132,     229-31,     229    note, 

328-9 
Nibelungenlied  379. 
Norse  civilization  and  literature  12, 

52,  325-33,  335. 
Novel,  modern :    its  connection  with 

the  evolution  of  the  essay  400. 
Numerical  progressions  in  the  Kale- 

vala  337-8. 

Omar  Khayyam  312-8,  372-6. 
One-two-three  form  of  plot  338-46. 
Oral  literature  45,  334  —  phenomena 

of    Oral    and    Written    literature 

102-6. 
Ossian  319-25,  423. 
Ovid  335,  414. 

Palgrave's  Golden  Treasury  402. 

Parallelism  302,  336-8. 

Pascal  391. 

Pastoral  poetry  145. 

Pedigree,  National  literary :  a  factor 
of  world  literature  8  —  applied  to 
English-speaking  peoples  10-53. 

Percy  ballads  423. 

Persian  civilization  and  literature  12, 
52,  312-8. 

Personality,  Literary  organs  of: 
Essays  and  Lyrics  55-6  and 
Chapter  VIII  [compare  Syllabus, 
pages  479—80]  —  Plutarch's  Lives 
the  accentuation  of  Comparative 
Personality  391-5. 

Perspective  applied  to  literature  in 
world  literature  6-7  —  interpre- 
tation of  perspective  64. 


Petrarch  405. 
Plato  15,  19,  409-10. 
Plautus  177,  421. 

Plot :    distinguished  from  movement 
113  —  application  to  the  Bible  72 

—  to  Shakespeare  168,  175-8  — 
plot  of  Iliad  113-4  —  Odyssey 
134-8  — ^neid  154-5  —  Sigurd 
329-33  —  in  Ossian  321-2  —  in 
Kalevala  344-6.  —  Plot  forms : 
agglutination  156  —  complication 
and  resolution  134,  154-6  —  frame 
story    306-10    (compare   398-400) 

—  involution  309  —  one-two-three 
form  338-46. 

Plutarch  391-3. 

Pope  5,  426. 

Prophets,  earlier  and  later  79. 

Protestantism  194-6  (compare  47-9, 

175). 
Psalms  402. 
Pseudo-Hebraism  48. 
Pseudo-Hellenism  48. 
Puppet  Play  of  Faust  222. 
Puritanism  48. 


Rabelais  424-5. 

Racine  422. 

Reformation  194-6,  221. 

Refrains  302,  336,  348. 

Renaissance  11,  47-9,  171-5  —  in- 
fluence on  education  442.  —  Re- 
naissance Protestantism  reflected 
in  Paradise  Lost  194-6.  —  Popular 
Renaissance  224-5  —  Spanish  Re- 
naissance 231. 

Revelation,  Book  of :   90,  96-7. 

Revised  Version  of  Bible  64. 

Reynard  the  Fox  414. 

Rhapsodic :  discourse  67  —  drama 
66. 

Rhapsody,  Isaiahan,  or  "  Zion  Re- 
deemed ":   26,  67,  82-4,  90. 

Rhyme  275. 

Rogers,  B.  B. :   5,  411. 

Roman  culture,  relation  to  Hellenic 
19,  152-4  —  Roman  drama  421. 

Romance  as  literary  aspect  of  medi- 
sevalism   26,  172  —  origin   of    Ro- 


[500] 


GENERAL  INDEX 


mance  42-51  —  Romance  of  the 
Rose  413-5. 

Romantic  and  Classical  49-50,  219, 
especially  273-7.  —  Romantic 

drama  172-6,  310,  421-2.  —  Ro- 
mantic epic  423-4. 

Ruskin  401. 

Sackville  207. 

Sainte-Beuve  381,  391,  401. 

Satan  241-7. 

Satire  419,  425. 

Scholasticism  37,  187,  189-91. 

Schumann  220. 

Science :  mediaeval  37  (compare  32- 
4)  —  science  motive  in  Goethe's 
Faust  265-72. 

Scott,  Sir  Walter :   423^. 

Seeley,  Sir  J.  E. :   210,  451-3. 

Selden  391. 

Semitic  civilizations  11,  12,  21,  52, 
297-8. 

Seneca  17,  177,  422. 

Shakespeare :  as  one  of  the  literary 
bibles  54,  164  and  Chapter  III  — 
his  supreme  poetic  individuality 
165-71  —  free  field  for  its  realiza- 
tion in  the  Romantic  Drama  171-5 

—  consciousness  of  this  in  Shake- 
speare 176-8.  —  Compared  with 
Molifere  420-2.  —  Shakespeare's 
sonnets  405. 

Shelley  66,  403. 

Sienkiewicz  424. 

Sigurd  325-33. 

Similes :  of  Homer  132-4  —  of  Mil- 
ton 204  and  note.  —  Compare 
328. 

Snider,  Denton  J. :   54  note. 

Song  of  Songs:    Hebraic  66,  376-7 

—  Indian  378. 

Sonnet  188,  403-5  —  biblical  403 
note  —  sonnet  sequence  314,  405. 

Sophocles  15,  16,  101  [compare  Syl- 
labus, pages  471—2]. 

Southey's  Curse  of  Kehama  312. 

Spectator :  its  place  in  the  evolution 
of  the  essay  397-400. 

Spenser  208,  372-6,  417,  430. 

Spohr  220. 


Story  form  306,  309,  339. 

Strategic    points    in    literature    56, 

407-8  and  Chapter  IX   [compare 

Syllabus,  pages  480-1]. 
Swedenborg  285-7. 
Swinburne  429-30. 
Symbolic  poetry :   in  Dante  180-4  — 

highest  form  of  truth  to  the  Middle 

Ages  183. 

Tennyson's  Vision  of  Sin  one  of  the 
Bacchanals  group  of  poems  372- 
6. 

Terence  421. 

Theocritus  145. 

Thucydides  107. 

Tottel's  Miscellany  402. 

Translated  literature  3-5. 

Tupper  388-90. 

Universal  Literature  6,  296-7. 
University    education    distinguished 

from  school  education  453-9. 
University  Extension  459-65. 

Vice  (in  mediaeval  drama)  246. 

Virgil :  the  ^neid  in  scheme  of  Clas- 
sical Epic  and  Tragedy  101  —  a 
link  between  Grecian  and  Roman 
and  Mediaeval  101,  163 — artificial 
poetry  for  a  cultured  audience  152- 
4  —  plot  and  movement  of  the 
JSneid  154-7  —  motives  of  the 
poem  157-62  —  relation  to  Roman 
antiquities  157-9  —  Destiny  mo- 
tive 159-62.  —  Relation  of  Dante 
and  Virgil  187,  193, 

Wagner  379. 

Walpurgis      Night      258  —  Classical 

Walpurgis  Night  266-8. 
Wandering  drama  367. 
Whitman,  Walt :   389-90. 
Wisdom  of  Solomon  89. 
Wonderland,   Interest  of:  44,  145-7 

—  compare  134-5,  140-7. 
Wordsworth  404,  426-7. 
World :       double      significance      in 

Goethe's  Faust  251  and  fol. — in 

Bailey's  Festus  291-2. 


[501] 


GENERAL  INDEX 


World  Literature :  conception  of, 
1-9,  441  —  distinguished  from  uni- 
versal literature  6,  296-7  —  the 
application  of  perspective  to  lit- 
erature 6  —  its  underlying  prin- 
ciples 8  —  the  autobiography  of 
civilization  56  and  Chapter  X  — 
its  place  in  education  441-65  [com- 


pare Syllabus,  pages  481-2].  — 
Study  of  world  literature  the  crea- 
tion of  the  general  reader  464.  — 
Collateral  world  literature  13,  55 
and  Chapter  VI. 

Xenophon  409. 


[502] 


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No  other  single  work  on  Shakespeare  includes  so  much,  and  so  much  that  is 
valuable.  Dr.  Brandes  is  a  good,  a  first-rate  'all-round  man.'  There  is  no  side  of 
his  subject  which  he  neglects.  He  is  both  an  antiquary  and  a  critic,  interested  in 
the  smallest  details  of  biography,  and  also  taking  broad  and  comprehensive  views 
of  Shakespeare's  thought  and  style.  His  book  is  in  its  way  encyclopaedic,  and  we 
venture  to  say  that  there  are  few  people — few  scholars  —  who  would  not  find  them- 
selves the  better  informed  and  the  wiser  for  its  perusal.  He  has  equipped  himself 
for  his  task  by  wide  study  and  research  ;  and  on  all  the  materials  he  has  amassed 
he  has  brought  to  bear  a  judgment  well  balanced  and  vigorous,  and  a  mind  liberal 
and  independent.  It  is  many  years  since  there  has  been  any  contribution  to 
Shakespearean  literature  of  such  importance  as  this.  These  two  volumes  are  of 
solid  worth,  and  deserve  a  place  in  every  Shakespearean  student's  library." 

Eighteenth  Century  Essays  on  Shakespeare 

Edited  by  D.  NICHOL  SMITH  cloth,  $3.00 

From  the  Editor's  Preface:  — 

"  It  is  at  least  eighty  years  since  most  of  these  Essays  were  reprinted.  Rowe's 
Account  of  Shakespeare  is  given  in  its  original  and  complete  form  for  the  first  time, 
it  is  believed,  since  1714.  .  .  .  Dennis's  Essay  has  not  appeared  since  the  author  re- 
published it  in  1721.  .  .  .  The  Nine  Essays  or  Prefaces  here  reprinted  may  claim 
to  represent  the  chief  phases  of  Shakespearean  study  from  the  days  of  Dryden  to 
those  of  Coleridge.  The  Introduction  has  been  planned  to  show  the  main  lines  in 
the  development  of  Shakespeare's  reputation,  and  to  prove  that  the  new  criticism, 
which  is  said  to  begin  with  Coleridge,  takes  its  rise  as  early  as  the  third  quarter  of 
the  eighteenth  century."  

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By  W.  T.  BREWSTER 

Specimens   of    Modern    English    Literary 
Criticism 

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This  book  belongs  to  the  realm  of  rhetoric  rather  than  of  literature  or 
literary  history.  It  aims  to  use  critical  writing  more  completely  than 
is  done  in  any  text-book  of  selections  as  an  agent  in  rhetorical  study 
and  intellectual  discipline.  The  selections  cover  Leslie  Stephen,  Dr. 
Johnson,  Macaulay,  Henry  James,  Matthew  Arnold,  Shelley,  Coleridge, 
and  others,  with  many  notes  and  an  excellent  and  comprehensive 
introduction. 

Studies  in  Structure  and  Style 

With  an  Introduction  by  George  Rice  Carpenter,  Professor 
of  Rhetoric  and  English  Composition  in  Columbia  University 

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The  author  has  used  rare  discrimination  in  selecting  the  essays  which 
he  discusses,  insisting  that  they  should  be  of  the  highest  class  of  mod- 
ern literature  and  that  they  should  serve  as  models  to  the  student. 
The  analysis  of  structure  and  style  in  these  volumes  is  most  able,  and 
the  book  will  be  found  a  most  valuable  one  as  a  text  in  the  higher 
institutions  of  learning. 

By  WILBUR   L.  CROSS 

The  Development  of  the  English  Novel 

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"This  thorough  and  comprehensive  work  on  English  fiction  is  based 
upon  sound  scholarship.  Professor  Cross  has  mastered  his  material, 
and  his  presentation  is  not  only  logical  in  its  general  classifications 
but  entirely  adequate  in  its  particulars.  For  these  reasons  it  is  an 
admirable  text-book,  and  the  student  will  find,  besides  the  organic 
treatment  of  the  whole,  a  basis  for  an  exhaustive  study  of  independent 
periods."  —  The  Washington  Star. 


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By  G.  R.  carpenter  and  W.  T.  BREWSTER 
Modern  English  Prose 

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"This  book  will  prove  of  great  service  to  English  teachers.  The 
selections,  complete  and  unabridged  as  they  are,  and  made  with  nice 
discrimination,  will  be  welcomed  by  instructors  who  desire  to  place 
before  their  pupils  some  of  the  best  examples  of  modern  prose  writ- 
ing." —  WiLMOT  B.  Mitchell,  Bowdoin  College,  Maine. 

By  MILTON   PERCIVAL  and  R.  A.  JELLIFFE 

Of  Oberlin  College 

Specimens  of  Exposition  and  Argument 

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The  selections  in  this  volume,  chosen  from  a  wide  range  of  literature, 
illustrate  the  different  phases  of  argument  such  as  persuasion,  refuta- 
tion, and  controversy,  and  the  different  types  of  exposition  such  as 
descriptions,  explanations,  definitions,  and  interpretations. 

"  It  is  not  often  that  the  student  is  given  the  opportunity  to  use  a 
text-book  at  once  so  fascinating  and  so  essentially  practical."  — 
Philadelphia  Public  Ledger. 

By  LANE   COOPER 

Of  Cornell  University 

Theories  of  Style 

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In  bringing  together  the  principal  treatises  and  the  loci  on  "  Theories 
of  Style "  from  Plato  to  Frederic  Harrison,  Professor  Lane  Cooper 
has  made  a  book  useful  at  once  for  the  classroom  student  and  the 
professional  writer.  The  familiar  views  of  Plato,  Aristotle,  Coleridge, 
De  Quincey,  and  Spencer,  as  well  as  those  of  Wackernagel,  Schopen- 
hauer, and  Brunetiere,  are  included. 


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